


The Strings That Tie to You

by Kit_Kat21



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, F/M, Ghosts, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Jon and the Starks Are Not Related, Kindred Spirits, Modern Westeros, Past Lives, Slow Build, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-01-04 10:51:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 101,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18342179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_Kat21/pseuds/Kit_Kat21
Summary: “Yes…” Sansa nods and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “The parts of history I’m interested in, I’m never able to find any books about.”“Like what?” Jon leans forward, resting his arms on his desk, looking at her with his complete attention.She opens her mouth to answer, but then, she closes it again and shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. There are probably no books on it because no one knows anything about it.”“Tell me,” he says. “Please. Perhaps I can find something and create a lecture around it.”





	1. Office Hours

…

 

 **One.** Office Hours.

 

“I don’t know why I bother,” Jeor Mormont mutters to himself as he takes one of the ceramic mugs down from the cabinet in the staff break room.

 

Jon Snow is standing nearby and can’t help, but smirk a little to himself before taking a sip from his own mug of coffee that he has just poured from the freshly brewed pot.

 

The older man notices and frowns at him. “I mean it, Snow. I don’t know why I bother. At the beginning of each new year, I think to myself, maybe _this_ is the year that won’t be so bad. Maybe this year, I’ll get _one_ student who actually gives a damn. And by this time, every year, I’m proven how wrong my naivety was.”

 

Jon almost snorts. One word he would _never_ use to describe the gruff history professor, Jeor Mormont, and that would be naïve. “You don’t truly feel that,” Jon says. “If you did, you would follow through on your threat and actually retire.”

 

“Bah. Retire? And let the students win?”

 

Jon chuckles at that before taking another sip of his coffee, his eyes moving to the watch on his left wrist. Better get back to it. He has office hours for another hour and though, most days, he has no students come to see him – except the occasional one, coming to beg for a change in their grade on a test or paper – Jon keeps his office door open every Tuesday and Friday from two o’clock until four whether someone comes to pay him a visit or not.

 

He agrees with Jeor Mormont. It _would_ be nice to have at least one student truly passionate about what he, himself, loves so much, he made a career out of teaching it to others, but his course – Introduction to Westeros History – is a freshman requirement for everyone at the college no matter their major. The majority of students in his classes, sitting through his lectures and power-points, are there simply because they have to be so they can move onto their next courses.

 

There are the students, of course, who _do_ love history and who are focusing their majors on it, but those students are oftentimes the extremely bored ones in his classes, already knowing the majority of what Jon is teaching.

 

Jon supposes he knew it would be like this. He has always loved history; never wanted to read about or study anything else. His mother was, of course, a little concerned when, to no surprise to her or anyone, when Jon graduated high school and decided to move on to study history for the next four years in college. History just isn’t one of those degrees that have the job opportunities knocking on the door.

 

But Jon didn’t care about that. History has always fascinated him and there was no other path he saw himself taking in life that _didn’t_ include studying history. To appease his mother, he double-majored and also got a degree in education so he could have some sort of “fall back” and even at twenty-five, he still rarely wants to give his mother the satisfaction of being right, but being a history teacher is a pretty good career for himself, Jon admits. He gets to live and breathe history each and every day and nothing’s better in his opinion.

 

Winterfell Community College obviously isn’t the most prestigious of higher learning facilities in Westeros, most of the students attending there either being older adults who had to hold off on getting a college degree for whatever reason or younger adults who either didn’t get into another college or who aren’t ready to go off to a bigger college yet.

 

It doesn’t matter to Jon. He likes the smaller atmosphere of WCC. He attended and graduated from White Harbor University on scholarship – there’s no way he and his mom would have been able to afford the tuition otherwise – and while Jon had liked it, he knew it hadn’t been the right fit for him. He had spent the four years living and learning there, acutely aware of how little he fit in with anyone else who attended, everyone around him having far more money and loving in the big city and Jon had just wanted to go back home to his small town where things were quiet.

 

This is only his second year teaching at WCC and he doesn’t doubt in at least another twenty, he will be as gruff and constantly pissed off as his fellow history professor colleague, Jeor Mormont, dealing with students every year who just don't care or share his same love, but for now, Jon keeps his door open for office hours and makes sure that his students always know they can visit him.

 

Leaving the staff break-room with his coffee and a bag of potato chips he’s bought from the vending machine, Jon heads back down the hallway towards his office, nodding and smiling politely to other teachers and students he passes along the way.

 

He likes his office. It’s not too big or too small. He is able to fit his desk along with two chairs for students to sit in, two bookcases on either side of his window that are filled two-books deep on each shelf; all history books, of course. On the windowsill, there is a heavy white, ceramic pot with a green snake plant planted in it; a gift from his mother with the promise that even he wouldn’t be able to kill it. Two years in and so far, even with Jon’s neglect and constantly forgetting to actually water it, his mom is right. Against one of the walls, pushed up against his four-drawer file cabinet is a sofa he has fallen asleep on during late hours, grading papers, more than once.

 

Settling himself in his chair behind his desk, Jon wakes his computer up from its slumber and goes to check his emails. To no surprise, there are two emails sent from two students in two of his different lectures, having missed class and asking if they could turn in their assignments late without being penalized.

 

_Knock, Knock!_

“Mr. Snow?”

 

The knock on the open door is soft – gentle – and Jon lifts his head, having just taken a gulp of coffee. And when he sees the young woman standing in his open doorway, he promptly begins to choke.

 

“I’m sorry!” She gasps and takes a step into the office, but then abruptly stops herself as if she’s not sure if she should have come inside or not.

 

Jon, still coughing, shakes his head rapidly back and forth, signaling her forward with his hand while trying his hardest to start breathing again.

 

Finally, he is able to cough past his coffee and he sucks in a shaky breath. “Sorry about that,” he breathes out.

 

“No, _I’m_ sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” she says, taking another step forward. “I… it’s still your office hours, isn’t it?”

 

“It is,” he nods quickly while grabbing a tissue from the box on his desk and wiping at his mouth. “Please.”

 

He gestures to one of the chairs across from him on the other side of his desk and with a small smile, the woman sits down, taking the strap from her black messenger bag from off her shoulder and resting it at her feet. Jon recognizes the _History of Westeros_ textbook in her lap, the heavy book’s pages showing off dozens of different-colored post-it tabs sticking out from it.

 

He looks to the young woman.

 

“I’m in your nine o’clock Introduction to Westeros History. I’m Sansa Stark,” she introduces herself.

 

Fourth row up, aisle seat, Jon adds silently to himself.

 

He has many students; many, _many_ students and he does his best to know all of their names, or at least recognize their faces. He admits that Ms. Sansa Stark got his attention on the very first day of class and he also admits to himself that it’s because she’s absolutely stunning and Jon finds himself looking forward to seeing her three times a week for ninety minutes.

 

“Of course,” Jon gives her a small smile and she matches it with her own. “Is there something I can help you with, Ms. Stark?” He asks.

 

“Sansa,” she corrects him with that same small smile. “And yes. I was doing the reading for next class and I was… I was getting confused,” she tells him and her cheeks begin to turn noticeably pink as if she’s embarrassed to be in here, telling him that.

 

Jon sits up a bit more in his chair. “What has you confused?”

 

“The Blackwoods and the Brackens… they are constantly feuding because House Bracken’s conversion to the Faith of the Seven and the Blackwoods believe the Brackens poisoned the weirwood at Raventree Hall. Years and years of a feud and _those_ are the reasons?”

 

Jon finds himself smiling. “You need more a reason for generational long House feuds?” He wonders.

 

Sansa smiles, too, and then releases a soft sigh. “It just seems a bit silly to me,” she admits. “I read that the families tried to broker peace through many marriage pacts, but the feud always restarted. I was hoping that the feud was from something a bit more substantial. Like… a man in one House ran away with a woman from the other House and _that’s_ where the hard feelings come from.”

 

Jon looks at her for a moment and her cheeks darken. He doesn’t mean to stare and he doesn’t mean to make her uncomfortable. He just can’t bring himself to look away from her.

 

She really is beautiful. If he’s being honest, he’s just not used to seeing a woman who looks like her outside of a magazine or TV screen. He has to wonder what she’s doing here, at Winterfell Community College. She seems older than eighteen; perhaps a couple years older than that. Did she try a larger university before stepping down to a smaller one? She certainly wouldn’t be the first one who had to do something like that.

 

Jon clears his throat, remembering himself, and _not_ looking at the way her dark red hair falls softly over her shoulders and down her chest. Seven Hells, he’s a pervert. He’s a _teacher_. More specifically, he’s _her_ teacher.

 

Decorum, Snow, he scowls to himself.

 

“I actually have something you might like to read, if you’re interested in knowing more of the marriages between the Brackens and Blackwoods because you’re right. There’s been quite a few of them.”

 

“Oh, yes, please,” Sansa sits up a little straighter and her eyes brighten.

 

Jon smiles at her before standing up and going to one of the two bookcases. It takes him a moment and moving quite a few books aside until he finds the paperback he is looking for. He turns back to Sansa and holds it out to her in an offering. Sansa leans forward in her chair and takes it from him, immediately looking to the cover and then turning it over to read the summary.

 

“I’ll be honest. It’s a bit dry in some spots,” Jon says as he sits down in his chair once more. He is feeling brave and he takes another sip from his coffee mug as she flips through the pages. This time, he’s able to swallow it down without incident. “A lot of names and dates and some marriages aren’t fully detailed at all.”

 

Sansa looks a bit disappointed at that as she looks to him once more. “Thank you for letting me borrow this, Mr. Snow. I promise to return it to you as soon as possible.”

 

“Yes, as you can see, I have nothing else to read,” Jon says with a slight smile and Sansa lets out a soft laugh. The sound only keeps the smile on his face.

 

He almost tells her that she can call him Jon rather than Mr. Snow – two years of teaching and he’s still getting used to being called that, especially when the student is as old, or older, than his mom.

 

Decorum, Snow, he tells himself again before he can suggest it to Sansa.

 

“Were you hoping for something with more details?” Jon asks her, his head tilted slightly to the side as he looks to the woman across from him.

 

He wants to ask her all sorts of things – if she loves history and if she does, is she majoring in it? What’s her favorite historical years to study? What is her favorite part of his class?

 

So many questions he wants to ask her and those are just the ones about history. He is fully aware of how wrong it is to want to have _any_ question for her. He is the teacher and she is the student and this is murky territory he knows he shouldn’t want to even have an inkling of wanting to explore.

 

“Yes…” Sansa nods and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “The parts of history I’m interested in, I’m never able to find any books about.”

 

“Like what?” Jon leans forward, resting his arms on his desk, looking at her with his complete attention.

 

She opens her mouth to answer, but then, she closes it again and shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. There are probably no books on it because no one knows anything about it.”

 

“Tell me,” he says. “Please. Perhaps I can find something and create a lecture around it.”

 

Sansa looks surprised at the offer, but Jon just keeps looking at her, letting her see that he’s quite serious. He’s not used to having students come into his office, during office hours, and talk about history. As strange as it probably sounds to others, this kind of discussion, right here, is a form of adrenaline for him.

 

After a moment of studying him, Sansa glances down to the paperback, now resting on top of her history textbook, before back to his face. “Can I tell you after I read this book? Maybe what I’m looking for is in here and there won’t be a need for a special lecture.”

 

Jon’s disappointed, but he nods his head. “And if it’s not in there, do you promise to tell me?”

 

Sansa looks into his eyes and slowly, a smile begins to creep across her lips. “I promise.” She gets to her feet then and Jon stands as well. “Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Snow, and thank you for the book. I’m going to start it tonight as soon as I get home.”

 

“I don’t know how much I helped you,” Jon admits. “After all, I couldn’t give a better reason for the Blackwood and Bracken Houses hating one another.”

 

Sansa smiles as she lifts her bag, returning the strap to her shoulder, and she then hugs the books to her chest. “Maybe I’ll find a better one in your book,” she says. “You steered me, perhaps, in a better direction. And if not… there’s been so much history lost over the years. Maybe this is just a piece that we’ll never get to the bottom of.”

 

Jon stares at her, unable to form words in response to that – her words echoing his own thoughts he’s had so many times while reading his history books, sometimes left with more questions than when he began – and after a moment, realizing that he won’t speak, Sansa gives him that small smile with her pink cheeks.

 

“Thank you again, Mr. Snow.”

 

She turns and Jon watches as she leaves, leaving him still standing there, unable to move.

 

“Call me Jon,” he finally speaks to his empty office.

 

…


	2. Old Sansa and New

…

 

**Two. Old Sansa and New.**

_“But I loved him.”_

Mr. Snow wasn’t wrong. The book he had loaned her is definitely dry in some parts; _most_ parts. It reads far too much like so many other history books. The author’s research is thorough, no doubt, and yet, it’s just names and dates. This man married this woman on this date and these were their children and this is how they were related to Houses Blackwood and Bracken.

 

Sansa had been hoping for a _little_ more than that. More details and more actual story. For instance, how did the men and women betrothed to one another in hopes of their Houses finding peace actually feel for one another and their arrangement?

 

She had also hoped for more on Bethany Blackwood, the only daughter of Lord Tytos Blackwood, who had died when she was just shy of nineteen from a fever, devastating her parents and all those in the Blackwood House as well as so many in the North.

 

Bethany Blackwood’s hand had been vital to yet another peace brokering between Blackwood and Bracken, but her untimely death led to even more years of intense feuding.

 

Sansa had hoped the author would write more about Bethany Blackwood, Sansa having first learned about the young woman a few years earlier when her brother, Robb, brought her a stack of books to read and to help pass the time when she was stuck in bed, and has constantly been so disappointed because there’s been so little written about her.

 

For as important as she apparently was – not only to her father and House Blackwood, but to alliances and possible peace – the historians have seemed to all agree that she’s nothing more than a footnote. It’s frustrating for Sansa. _Why_ is there nothing written on some of these women and their marriages or almost-marriages that equals more than a paragraph or two in passing?

 

Bethany Blackwood’s last words before she died are written in this book though. They’re always mentioned when an author deems Bethany Blackwood important enough to mention at all.

 

_“But I loved him.”_

 

Her last words on her last breath before she died. All of the so-called “experts” on the Blackwood/Bracken feud seem to be in agreement that Bethany was speaking of her father, but Sansa has always doubted that. She, herself, loves her father. Ned Stark is the best man she knows. Yet, Sansa can’t imagine a girl her age, literally on her deathbed, talking about her love for her father. Especially using those words. It just doesn’t sound like the way a girl uses those words when speaking of love for her father.

 

Sansa has imagined for quite some time that Bethany Blackwood was speaking of someone else; another man. Her betrothed in the Bracken House? Maybe. She, of course, has no evidence whatsoever to back up her theory. It’s just a feeling she has. There’s far more to Bethany Blackwood then the _male_ so-called historical experts obviously think.

 

She wonders what Mr. Snow thinks.

 

She wonders what her history professor would say if she returned to his office to give him back the book. He will ask what she thought, no doubt, and he will ask if she found what she was looking for. She thinks of how she had promised she would tell him if she hadn’t. She thinks of all of the books in his office. Maybe there’s already a book out there and she just doesn’t know about it and Mr. Snow already has it.

 

Sansa can’t see any harm in telling him what she would like to learn about. He, after all, is a history teacher and he seemed quite eager to talk history with her when she had come during his office hours (after he had nearly choked to death).

 

Closing the book, finishing it, Sansa slides it onto her nightstand before curling up completely beneath her bed covers. Lady is snoring softly at the foot of the bed, keeping Sansa’s feet warm as she always does. The house is quiet. Her parents are both in their bedroom, sleeping, Rickon – the only other Stark to still live at home besides Sansa – is sleeping; the _world_ is sleeping. That’s how it feels anyway. At this moment, at this late hour, when the night sky outside is completely black, Sansa is the only one who’s still awake.

 

And because of that, Sansa doesn’t try to stop herself from her thoughts wandering to those of her history professor. No one will certainly know her thoughts and she will never confess them to anyone, so she feels safe, tucked away in her bedroom in the dead of night, thinking of Mr. Snow.

 

The first day of class when Sansa had walked into the lecture hall, her eyes already searching for a seat among the spattering of students already there, she had thought the man standing at the desk in front of the room had been a T.A. She had never thought he would be actually the professor of the introductory course. Once she had found her seat – four rows up from the front and a coveted aisle seat – and she had gotten her things together – her history textbook, her new spiral notebook and a new black pen, ready to go, with her bag tucked beneath her chair – her eyes had wandered around the room to the other students before back to the man now looking through some papers.

 

Sansa had thought he was handsome. He wore jeans – a little tight – and a plain black tee-shirt. She could see the muscles in his chest and his arms when he moved and though she had no idea who he was, Sansa felt that perhaps noticing this man’s muscles were wrong; yet, she couldn’t stop herself. He had black, curly hair – a bit on the longish side, able to cover his ears – and he was in the midst of growing out a beard.

 

There had been a time where, Sansa admits, she never would have given the man a second glance. He wasn’t at all what her type used to be; always having a crush on blond or lighter haired, fair-skinned, tall _pretty_ men. This man definitely wasn’t any of those things. Dark and handsome and definitely from the North.

 

But that was before. Maybe Northern men are her type now.

 

When the class had officially begun and he had introduced himself as Mr. Snow, the professor, Sansa wondered how that was possible. He was too young to be teaching. Wasn’t he? He looked around her age and even at twenty-two, Sansa couldn’t imagine herself teaching courses at a college – community or not.

 

Over the next few weeks, Sansa was proven wrong.

 

Mr. Snow is a very intelligent man and a brilliant professor. Her dad and brothers have always been big history buffs, so Sansa is no strange to history of Westeros, but she doesn’t know everything and even what she does now, she listens to Mr. Snow as he teaches them for ninety minutes, three times a week, his passion for each and every topic evident in his tone and it only makes Sansa more curious about what they’re learning, wanting to find out for herself why he loves it so much.

 

She is taking all sorts of different courses at Winterfell Community College, deciding what she likes and wishes to pursue further, and Introduction to Westeros History with Mr. Snow is definitely her favorite.

 

Her father certainly loves it, too. After her first day of classes, her parents – naturally – wanted to hear everything and when Sansa went through her classes and showed them her books, Ned had taken her history book and began to flip through it, his eyes gleaming and his smile growing when he came across particular chapters of his own favorite bits of history.

 

Now, at dinner, Ned always asks her about her history class first.

 

“Why didn’t you follow a career into history?” Sansa asks him one night as they eat.

 

Ned Stark smiles and pauses to swallow his bite of garlic bread. “I love history, but I think if I worked with it every single day, I wouldn’t love it as much.”

 

Sansa can understand that, but she’ll watch Mr. Snow during class as he moves around the front of the lecture hall, talking through his Power Point, his hands moving, more so if he seems to really love what he’s teaching about that particular day and the way he looks _so_ eager when someone asks him a question.

 

Sansa thinks of how he had looked when she had knocked on his door (after he had nearly choked to death). He had looked so happy to have her there, asking about something from his class. Her dad loves history, but history seems to be Mr. Snow’s passion. Maybe that’s why, when Sansa returns his book, she’ll talk with him and see if he knows anything about Bethany Blackwood.

 

Even if he doesn’t, Sansa thinks Mr. Snow might just like talking about it anyway. Sansa finds herself already looking forward to the future discussion.

 

…

 

Whenever it rains – or when it’s severely overcast – Sansa gets the most intense headaches.

 

This morning, with the rain already falling as she woke up, her mom had suggested she stay home that day instead of going to the college for her classes.

 

“I’ll be alright,” Sansa promised with a small smile that took a great effort to form. “I have my ibuprofen.”

 

Still, even after Catelyn drove her to the main building of the college and stopped at the curb, Catelyn suggested it again.

 

“It’s just one day,” Catelyn said even as Sansa flipped the hood of her yellow raincoat over her head. “You can miss classes for one day.”

 

“I know I can, but honestly. I’m alright,” Sansa told her and managed to do so without grimacing in pain as a roll of thunder drummed over their heads. Sansa leaned over and kissed her mom on the cheek, Catelyn kissing her cheek as well.

 

“Call me the _instant_ you want to come home,” Catelyn ordered. “I’m going to be home all day today so you won’t be pulling me out of anything.”

 

“I will. I promise,” Sansa nodded, already knowing she wouldn’t call her to pick her up until she was done with all of her classes that day. Hopefully, the rain wouldn’t last all day and her head could return to normal.

 

But now, hours later, she sits in her last class – Mr. Snow’s class – and she feels like she’s ready to cry. Over her head, she can hear the rain steadily pounding the roof, steady and without stopping, and it’s like someone is constantly just hitting both the front, back and both temples with tiny hammers. The ibuprofen usually helps her, but today, it has done absolutely nothing and it feels like the scar on the side of her skull, hidden beneath her thick hair, is throbbing as if it has its own heartbeat.

 

“Alright, we’ll end a little early today so we can all get out of this weather,” Mr. Snow says and everyone immediately begins gathering their things even as he is still speaking. “Remember to check your syllabus! Chapter six for Monday and answer all review questions! Alright, have a good weekend!” He calls out over the noise of everyone else, packing their things and leaving.

 

Sansa moves much slower than the others and by the time she has her raincoat on and her bag slung onto her shoulder, she is the only one left in the lecture hall; along with Mr. Snow. She takes the steps slowly, feeling a hint of dizziness, and she reaches out to take hold of the back of one of the chairs – just in case.

 

“Are you alright?” Mr. Snow has been watching her and now, he comes to her, reaching a hand out.

 

Sansa closes her eyes and nods – and then immediately regrets it, the action almost sending her over.

 

Without thought, she reaches out and takes his hand and Mr. Snow helps her down the final step.

 

“Thank you,” she says even though the ground is still shifting beneath her. She swallows and then reaches into her messenger bag. “I have your book to return.”

 

Mr. Snow is looking at her, his brow slightly furrowed, clearly concerned, but when she pulls his paperback out and holds it out to him, he is clearly surprised.

 

“Already?” He asks, taking it as his eyes never leave her. “You really plowed through that.”

 

At his words, Sansa notices his cheeks turn a light shade of pink. Sansa wonders why he’s blushing.

 

“You were right. It was very dry… through all of it,” she gives him a smile and he smiles, too. “But I was hoping it would have what I wanted.”

 

“And did it?” He asks, his tone rising in the end with curiosity.

 

Sansa shakes her head before she can tell herself not to and another roll of thunder drums outside. She closes her eyes as the pain in her head intensifies and she feels Mr. Snow’s hand lightly on her elbow.

 

“Are you alright?” He asks again, quietly; this time, concern evident.

 

Sansa takes a deep breath, honestly, feeling nauseous now in addition to her headache and dizziness.

 

She hates this. Four years later and she still forgets – at times – that her entire body and health has changed and when it rains outside, it’s just not going to be a good day for her and she has to finally accept that. She can’t be stubborn as she once was; not when it comes to these kinds of things. This is her life now and this is just the way she is now. Things would just be easier for her if she finally learns that.

 

“I have to call my mom so she can pick me up,” Sansa says, her eyes still closed and Mr. Snow’s hand still on her elbow, and she wills her feet and the ground to both be steady beneath her once again.

 

But just as she thinks she’ll be able to step outside in the hall and take out her cell phone, there’s a crash of lightning as the storm intensifies and she winces, almost falling into Mr. Snow as she loses all sense of balance. She’s nearly on the verge of tears now; the pain in her head only worsening.

 

“Alright. Alright,” he says gently. She can feel his arm around her waist, steadying her. “Let’s get you sitting down and we’ll call your mom,” he says and Sansa nods because she can’t bring herself to do anything else.

 

She can’t even stop herself from leaning into him more for further support and Mr. Snow’s arm tightens around her waist. She wonders if he even realizes that he’s done that.

 

He smells like the woods.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those who read and commented on the first chapter. I'm making up a lot of Bethany Blackwood's story and yes, I will go into what is "wrong" with Sansa. Thank you for reading!


	3. A Little Research

…

 

 **Three.** A Little Research.

He settles Sansa in the chair at his desk and it takes another moment of her sitting down for her eyes to finally open. He’s crouching down in front of her, his brow furrowed and his mouth heavy with a frown. He waits as she pulls out her cell and calls her mother.

 

“Are you alright?” He asks her, once she is finished, for what feels like the hundredth time, but it also feels like he can’t ask her enough. There’s something clearly wrong, but he has absolutely no idea what it is and he’s wondering if he should be calling an ambulance for her instead.

 

“I’m alright,” she says with the smallest of smiles and now that she’s sitting, she _does_ look a little better in comparison to when she was standing and almost seemed to be falling over. “I… I was in a bad car accident a few years ago and… I’m stupid and I’m always insisting that my body is exactly the same as it was before the crash when it’s obviously _not_. I get the most terrible headaches now and also vertigo and sometimes, the world does nothing, but spin… my doctor says my equilibrium is a mess.”

 

Jon isn’t too sure what to say to that. His automatic reaction is to apologize even if there’s nothing to apologize for and something inside tells him that Sansa won’t appreciate him apologizing for this. She probably gets apologies from all sorts of people.

 

“Is it just when it rains?” He wonders.

 

“When it rains. When it’s overcast. When there’s a sudden change in weather. When the sun rises,” she smiles at that last one and Jon finds himself smiling, too. “My mom wanted me to stay home today because of the storm, but I insisted that I could go. I… I didn’t want to miss your class,” she then admits with pink cheeks and Jon feels the back of his neck grow warm as well.

 

He feels pretty good about that; no sense in lying about it. He would miss her if she wasn’t in class and he would certainly be worried. Where she sits – fourth row up, aisle seat – sometimes, a lot of the times, during his lectures when he looks out to the class, his eyes just seem to naturally fall upon her. And knowing that she wouldn’t want to miss his class – for whatever reason that might be, maybe it being as simple as she doesn’t want to have to be penalized in a late assignment – even if she feels as awful as she clearly does, it makes Jon feel a little special even if he tells himself to stop it.

 

“I will give you a list of ten of my students. If you could loan them your dedication to my history class, I would be thankful,” he cracks a joke and Sansa laughs softly.

 

Jon suddenly decides that he will do his best to be a funny man. Her laugh is perfection.

 

He has no idea how far away Sansa’s mother lives from the college, but it seems within five minutes of Sansa making the phone call, a woman comes rushing into the lecture hall, breathless as if she’s run the whole way. Jon stands at the sight of her and then, his hand seems to naturally go to Sansa’s elbow, slowly helping her to her feet once more.

 

“Sansa,” the woman rushes to her. “Are you alright?”

 

Sansa gives her a small smile. “The ibuprofen didn’t help and the storm was just getting worse…”

 

The woman sighs, now relieved even though concern is still etched on her face. “Sansa, I told you-” she begins to say.

 

“Mom,” Sansa swiftly cuts her off. “This is Mr. Snow, my history professor. Mr. Snow, this is my mom, Catelyn Stark,” she makes the proper introductions.

 

Jon realizes that his hand is still lighting holding Sansa’s elbow and he pulls it back so he can shake Catelyn’s hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Stark.”

 

“Please call me Catelyn. And it’s so nice to meet you, too. Sansa has mentioned you a few times.”

 

Again, Jon can’t help, but feel a little (a lot) special over that remark. From the corner of his eye, he can see Sansa’s cheeks becoming an even darker shade of pink from her mother’s comment.

 

“Thank you for helping her,” Catelyn then says as she and Jon shake hands.

 

“Of course,” he looks to Sansa again and Sansa gives him a smile; one he returns.

 

“Mr. Snow-”

 

“Jon, please.”

 

“Jon,” Catelyn smiles at that and then glances to her daughter before back to Jon. “Would you like to come to our house this evening for dinner? As a thank you for looking after Sansa until I was able to get here?”

 

“Oh, I…”

 

Jon is completely prepared to politely refuse the invitation. He doesn’t know the proper protocol for things like that. Would he be allowed to go to a student’s house for dinner? Is that considered unprofessional? He knows it’s not like Sansa or the Starks are trying to bribe him into giving her better grades. Sansa already has high marks in his class. He wonders if he should ask Jeor Mormont before Jon accepts or declines.

 

But then he looks to Sansa. She is looking at him and he can tell she’s trying to do her best to keep her face impassive, but he’s able to see something in her eyes as she awaits his answer. He thinks it might be hope. But is it hope that he’ll say no or hope that he’ll say yes?

 

Jon knows what he hopes which one it is.

 

He looks back to Catelyn and decides to just go for it. “That sounds wonderful, Catelyn. Thank you.”

 

Catelyn smiles and Jon looks back to Sansa to see her smiling, too.

 

After Sansa tears a page from her notebook with the Stark address written down on it and he promises Catelyn that he’ll be there at six per her instructions, he watches as mother and daughter leave the lecture hall, Catelyn with an arm around Sansa’s waist as they walk.

 

Jon had no idea that anything was wrong with Sansa; not that anything _is_ wrong with Sansa. But what she obviously experiences on a daily basis, she is a clear master at hiding it from everyone.

 

Gathering his things, he leaves the lecture hall, turning off the lights and making sure the door is closed behind him before heading up the stairs to where the history department offices are located. He wants to get a few things done before he heads home. He wants to make sure he has plenty of time to shower and change clothes before going to the Stark house and he also wants to stop off somewhere and pick up something so he doesn’t arrive empty-handed.  

 

It definitely wouldn’t be proper protocol if he, a teacher, brought his student flowers, but surely, bringing flowers for his student’s mother is encouraged. That’s what Jon is going to tell himself anyway.

 

…

 

The Starks live in the nicest area of Winterfell; their address showing their obvious status in the community. He looks up the address once out of his shower and in fresh clothes, just wanting to make sure that he knows where he’s going and he doesn’t get turned around, thus making him late. 

 

And once he’s done looking up the address, he googles the Stark family themselves. Her father, Ned Stark of the prominent Stark family – a family seemingly as old as the North itself – is a successful real estate developer. _Very_ successful, Jon notes, when article upon article of the man pops up about his life’s crusade of both preserving the North and how the vast land has been for centuries, but also attracting new businesses to help bring income into the area as well.

 

The first day of class, when Jon had gone through the class rosters, he had almost asked Sansa if she was one of those Starks, but he had refrained. The Starks is an old, well-known family and he would think she was asked that question frequently in her life. Still, from a history teacher’s stand point, Jon is looking to speaking with Ned Stark tonight very much. He just hopes Ned Stark would like to talk with him as well.

 

Google Images bring up pictures of the Stark family – father, Ned, mother, Catelyn, and Sansa has three brothers and one sister as well. The oldest, Robb, is his age and is working at the Stark company, clearly following in his father’s footsteps. He is married to Wynafryd, formerly Manderly, another old family. Arya Stark is studying in Braavos, Bran Stark, though only seventeen, skipped a couple of grades, tested high and is already attending college in King’s Landing and Rickon Stark is the youngest.

 

Jon looks at all of their pictures, learning their names. He knows it’s not important. When will he _ever_ need to know them? It’s just one dinner with a student and her family.

 

(He’s not even going to think about why it’s so important to him to keep referring to Sansa as his student; as if he could possibly forget that.)

 

He looks at the images loaded of the Stark family – and there are a _lot_ of the family in various public appearances, parties and charity functions – but one makes him pause before he can scroll past it. He clicks on it and leans back in his seat for a moment once it enlarges.

 

It’s Sansa. She is holding her hand up to cover the side of her face from the photographer, but it’s definitely Sansa. Jon recognizes her long, red hair immediately. She’s in a wheelchair, being pushed by her father.

 

Jon clicks on the link accompanied with the picture to take him to the story, leaning forward in his chair again to read it closely.

 

_Sansa Stark Goes Home after Horrific Accident_

Jon can’t help, but wince when he sees the photograph of the car – a twisted pile of metal, hardly resembling a car anymore at all. It’s a miracle she’s alive. He knows that without having to read the rest of the story. But he reads it anyway. She had called it “a bad car accident”, but Jon feels like ‘bad’ doesn’t even cover it. Not only is it a miracle that she’s alive, how is she not completely paralyzed after that?

 

His eyes read the story closely, not wanting to miss a single detail. She had been with her boyfriend, Harry Hardyng. Both had been eighteen and had graduated from high school that very morning. They had been on their way to a friend’s party when a drunk driver crashed into them head on. The driver of the other car lived and is currently serving a sentence in prison…

 

Jon swallows as he reads the next bit and he feels a deep clenching in his stomach that almost aches.

 

Harry died instantly and they had to cut Sansa from the car. She then spent two months in the hospital.

 

No wonder her head aches. Jon’s head aches just from reading the story and looking at the pictures.

 

There is a picture of Sansa and Harry Hardyng in their grey graduation cap and gowns, arms around one another and both beaming for the camera. Harry was a tall, fair-haired, good-looking kid; a kid with his entire life ahead of him. And who would be dead just a few hours after this picture was taken.

 

Gods, that hurts just to think about.

 

He then looks to Sansa. She is an older student and Jon had just assumed, like most of the older students, they had tried at a big university and just hadn’t made it or she had to hold off college for one reason or another. He would say almost dying is “one reason or another”. He wonders… not only can she still walk – and he thinks that that’s a miracle – but she doesn’t seem to have any scars; that he can see. With the Stark money the family obviously has, Sansa probably had the best of the best in all doctors. Maybe it’s not so far-fetched that a person – _he_ – could look at her today and have no idea what she’s been through.

 

He had been away at college, reading and immersing himself in things that had already happened, years and years ago. He admits that for so long, he had paid little attention to actual events that were happening currently. He’s not surprised in himself that he had had no idea.

 

He looks back up to the picture of her leaving the hospital. Two months in the hospital, still eighteen. He wonders how old she is now. No wonder her head pounds when it rains and her mom picks her up. He wonders if she drives at all. He certainly wouldn’t blame her. He might walk everywhere for the rest of his life if he had to be cut out of a car. He couldn’t help, but wonder how long she had to sit next to Harry’s body.

 

That last thought makes Jon sit back and shake his head slightly, clearing it away, before he clicks out of the web browser entirely and stands up. His eyes go to the clock. It’s almost five-thirty and while Winterfell isn’t as large as King’s Landing or White Harbor, Winterfell is still a good size and it’s rush hour. He’ll leave now and go get flowers before arriving at the Stark home, hopefully promptly at six o’clock.

 

He is still going to get Catelyn Stark flowers, but should he get some for Sansa despite the proper protocol between teachers and students? He wants to get her flowers and not because of her accident or he feels sorry for her. Does he feel sorry for her? He’s not sure, he realizes. She’s alive. She seems to be doing fairly well. But, he can only imagine what she’s gone through over the past few years and even then, he knows his imagination isn’t nearly close at all to the reality.

 

Maybe he feels a little sorry for her, he admits. But that’s _not_ why he’s going to get Sansa Stark flowers. He’s going to get flowers because she’s here and whether it’s proper protocol or not, Jon knows he’s glad for that.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading! 
> 
> A few notes after this chapter: I have gotten a few comments on how I always write Jon as a disaster or a fuck-up in most of my stories. In this story, he's going to just be a good guy. For as little as I wrote it in _All My Days_ , I loved Robb and Wynafryd Manderly and wanted to use that pairing again. 
> 
> Thank you again! Dinner at the Starks in the next chapter and Bethany Blackwood will be on Sansa's mind again.


	4. Strictly Dinner

…

 

 **Four.** Strictly Dinner.

Sansa has a full-length mirror standing in the corner of her bedroom and tucked within the frame, there is a picture of Harry; one she took of him after school on a sunny afternoon as they had been with their friends at the park. He sat on the ground, straddling his skateboard, and giving her that perfect smile of his as she told him to say ‘cheese’ and aimed her phone at him.

 

It’s her favorite picture of Harry and she looks at it now as she looks over her reflection.

 

“What do you think?” Sansa then asks him. “I don’t want it to look like I’m _actually_ trying because I’m _not_.” Harry just keeps smiling. “He’s my _teacher_ and he’s coming over for dinner. Nothing more than that. But…” Sansa focuses on her reflection again. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look presentable for dinner.”

 

Sighing, Sansa looks at her hair. She had worn it down that day, but now she thinks she needs something casual. Everything has to be casual tonight – and there’s absolutely no reason why it won’t be.

 

“How do I look?” Sansa asks Harry’s picture once her hair is in a single – _simple_ – braid.

 

Harry smiles.

 

“Stop looking at me like that,” Sansa can’t help, but snap. “I’m not nervous. There’s no reason for me to be nervous. He’s just a teacher and he’s coming over for dinner. My dad and him will probably talk history the whole night and he won’t even talk with me at all.” She pauses. “I’m fine with that. Why do I need Mr. Snow to talk with me anyway? He’s not coming over because we’re friends. He’s my teacher and he’s coming over because mom practically twisted his arm in doing so.”

 

She narrows her eyes at Harry’s picture as he just keeps smiling.

 

She sighs again and looks over the skinny grey jeans and dark blue cable knit sweater she’s wearing. It’s casual and looks like she’s not trying – because she’s not. She’s. Not.

 

… so why did she come home and after a nap, her headache finally fading away to the near-constant dullness it usually is, change her clothes before six o’clock that evening? Mr. Snow will show up and look at her and know that she’s changed clothes because he’s already seen her once today and already knows what she’s been hearing.

 

She hadn’t thought of that.

 

It’s too late though to change back into the clothes she had been wearing earlier that day. It’s just a couple more minutes until six o’clock and she doesn’t know anything about Mr. Snow besides he loves history and is quite good at teaching it, but she seems to know that he hates to be tardy.

 

And sure enough, at 5:59, the doorbell rings, echoing through the house and Sansa hears Lady and Shaggydog, Rickon’s dog, promptly begin to bark to alert everyone that they have a visitor.

 

Before leaving her bedroom, Sansa steps to the mirror and touches the picture as she always does before she leaves, looking at Harry and his beautiful smile and the way it lights up his entire face.

 

She misses him. And she knows it’s been four years and the odds of her and Harry – if he was alive – still being together would be slim, but she thinks often of how it would be if Harry _was_ alive and they _were_ still together. Would they be engaged? Would they already be married?

 

The abruptness of Harry’s death and him leaving her, Sansa wonders if she’s romanticized hers and Harry’s relationship. They were together since they were fifteen, dating one another for three years – an eternity in high school years – and they had been in love. Sansa knows their relationship hadn’t been perfect. Gods, they were teenagers. Of course things hadn’t been perfect. Teenagers are hormonal and dramatic and she and Harry had had some fantastic rows. But Harry had loved her and Sansa had loved him.

 

She knows she shouldn’t feel anything for Mr. Snow. He’s her teacher and it’s wildly inappropriate; not to mention that if _anything_ happened between them at any point while she is his student, it could result in Mr. Snow losing his position. Not that she wants anything to happen between them. And she’s skipping so far ahead of herself, she can hardly even see herself anymore.

 

He’s her teacher and she’s his student and that’s all they are. Sansa knows that’s all he sees her as. Perhaps Sansa is skipping ahead because Mr. Snow is the first man she has looked – _truly_ looked at – since Harry.

 

And there’s a part of herself that feels guilty for that; guilty that she’s here and Harry’s not; guilty that she’s here to find someone else attractive.

 

Touching Harry’s face with two fingers, Sansa finally turns and leaves the bedroom, turning the light off behind her and heading down the hall. The dogs have stopped barking and Sansa can hear her parents’ voices and then, she can hear his.

 

Coming down the stairs, she sees Mr. Snow crouching down, both Lady and Shaggydog greeting him excitedly with wagging tails and licks on his face. Sansa sees her mother is holding a bouquet of yellow tulips and Sansa knows that Mr. Snow had obviously brought those for her.

 

Sansa feels a fluttering in her stomach she tries to ignore.

 

“Sansa!” Ned calls out and then smiles when he spots her already on the bottom step. “There you are.”

 

Sansa smiles, too, and steps off the last step, joining them in the front entryway. Mr. Snow stands up at the sight of her and Sansa quickly notes that he has changed as well from what he was wearing earlier. Tonight, he has come to dinner in black jeans and a black sweater. The man certainly seems to like black.

 

“Hello, Mr. Snow,” Sansa greets him with a smile and slight head nod.

 

“Hello, Sansa,” Mr. Snow gives his own small smile and head nod. “I… um, I got you something as well.”

 

Sansa can’t help, but be curious. Has he gotten her flowers, too?

 

Of course not, Sansa, she frowns at herself. What teacher gives his student flowers unless that teacher and student have an extremely illicit relationship between them?

 

“I don’t know if you’d like it, but…” he then holds up a small cactus in a small pot. “It’s a barrel cactus.”

 

She notes the slight pink to his cheeks and Sansa smiles as she looks at the cactus, taking the pot into her hands. Somehow – and she doesn’t quite understand how – this is better than receiving flowers.

 

Her eyes lift back to her history teacher’s face. “I love it so much. Thank you, Mr. Snow.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Mr. Snow says with a slight head nod again.

 

She feels the fluttering again.

 

“Dinner’s just about ready,” Ned says and Sansa almost jumps. She had honestly forgotten that her parents are standing with her and Mr. Snow, watching this whole exchange. “Would you like a drink, Mr. Snow?”

 

“Jon, please,” he corrects her father just as he had corrected her mother. “And that would be great, Mr. Stark. Thank you.”

 

“Ned,” Ned, unsurprisingly, corrects him.

 

Sansa watches as Ned leads Mr. Snow – Jon – down the hallway and Sansa stands there, her eyes following after them. She jumps when Catelyn carefully takes the cactus pot from Sansa’s hands.

 

“I’m going to put both of these in the kitchen,” Catelyn tells her and Sansa sees the smile on her mom’s face.

 

Sansa nearly tells her to not smile like that. There’s absolutely no reason for her to be smiling; as if Sansa has a secret that Catelyn has just figured out. And even if Sansa _did_ have a secret, she can’t believe that her mom would be okay with this particular secret. Mr. Snow is her teacher and Catelyn Stark is a very proper woman. She would never approve of any type of _anything_ happening between her daughter and her daughter’s teacher, so why would Catelyn ever be smiling like she is now?

 

Catelyn leaves the entryway, too, heading towards the kitchen and Sansa remains, now alone. Even Lady and Shaggydog have left, following after their dinner guest, not done sniffing at him yet.

 

“Not a bad looking guy, if I do say so myself,” Sansa hears a familiar voice speak right into her ear. “If I saw him around you, I would definitely be jealous.”

 

Sansa frowns. “Shut up, Harry. There’s no reason to be jealous,” she whispers to the air.

 

…

 

With just four Starks living at home still, the family eat dinner every night at the table in the kitchen. With Mr. Snow’s addition, Sansa had just assumed they would eat this meal in the dining room – he is company, after all – but Catelyn has set five places at the rectangular table in the kitchen just like every other night.

 

Sansa wonders if it’s because they’re simply having chicken pot pie rather than something fancier.

 

They all gather at the table – Ned sitting at one head and Catelyn sitting on the other. Normally, Rickon and Sansa sit on either side, across from one another, but tonight, Mr. Snow sits on one side and Rickon and Sansa sit next to each other on the other side. Sansa notes that every time she lifts her eyes, she can’t help, but have them fall right on Mr. Snow.

 

“This is delicious… Catelyn,” Mr. Snow says, pausing as he seems to become comfortable in saying her name, once they begin eating.

 

“Thank you, Jon,” Catelyn smiles warmly. “It was Rickon’s choice tonight.”

 

“Good choice,” Mr. Snow looks to the youngest Stark at fifteen-years-old.

 

“Thanks,” Rickon grins. “You’re lucky you came on one of my nights and not one of Sansa’s.”

 

“Hey,” Sansa frowns at her brother. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong when it’s my turn to choose dinner.”

 

“One word, Sansa. Eggplant,” Rickon simply says before shoveling another forkful into his mouth.

 

Sansa frowns at him and then turns it on her father when she hears Ned let out a snort. “It was delicious.”

 

“It was,” Ned agrees and Sansa narrows her eyes at him. Ned just gives her a wink though and a smile before guiding his own fork to his mouth and Sansa can’t help, but smile now as well.

 

As Sansa moves her attention to her own plate, her eye catches Mr. Snow, the man looking at her, and when their eyes meet across the table, they share a small smile, Sansa’s stomach fluttering once again.

 

“So, Jon, are you from Winterfell?” Catelyn asks.

 

“A bit all over, you can say. Winterfell, Hornwood. A bit of time in Cerwyn,” Mr. Snow answers. “It was just myself and my mom and we went wherever she could find work.”

 

If he’s embarrassed by that, he doesn’t show it, Sansa notes. But why would he be embarrassed?

 

“And where did you study for history?” Ned asks.

 

“I attended White Harbor University,” Mr. Snow tells him.

 

Sansa wants to tell her parents to stop interrogating the man, but the man in question doesn’t seem to mind.  

 

Ned’s face lights up a bit at that answer. White Harbor University is quite prestigious – not just in the North, but all of Westeros. They had hoped Bran would go there rather down to King’s Landing, but Bran had felt that UKL had a bit more for him than White Harbor.

 

“I was there about a year ago with my oldest, Robb. We’re both a bit of history buffs and there was a public lecture on Lady Agnes Blackwood,” Ned says.

 

“I was at that lecture, too, actually,” Mr. Snow nods. “I heard they’re going to be making a movie about the resistance of the River Lords.”

 

Ned can’t help, but roll his eyes. “Yes, and probably mess the whole thing up.”

 

Mr. Snow smiles at that. “My thoughts exactly. I’ll still go though so I can sit there and be extremely critical and judgmental of the whole thing.”

 

Ned lets out a laugh. “It sounds like that will have to be something you, myself and Robb do together. We can be the grouchy men everyone is hushing because we’re talking about everything the movie got wrong.”

 

Mr. Snow’s smile widens.

 

Catelyn lifts her glass of water to take a sip. “Some things are just meant for entertainment, dear,” she tells her husband and it’s certainly something she’s told him more than once during their marriage; when a new movie or television show comes out about some point in Northern, or Westeros, history.

 

“Bah,” Ned waves his fork as if waving away his wife’s words. “Circuses are for entertainment. History is for _correctly_ teaching the masses.”

 

Catelyn rolls her eyes and it’s her turn to receive a good-natured wink from Ned.

 

“You never finished telling me what you thought of the book,” Mr. Snow says and it takes Sansa a moment to realize that he’s speaking to her now.

 

“Oh,” Sansa sits a little straighter in her chair. “It was a bit dry, as I mentioned. You were right about that. I was hoping for a bit more… _story_ to some of the marriages or betrothals. I’ve noticed that men writing these history books don’t seem to think there’s much to tell when it comes to those kinds of things.”

 

Mr. Snow shrugs. “Sometimes, there’s not much _to_ tell.”

 

“Well, that’s just not right,” Sansa speaks before she can stop herself.

 

Mr. Snow looks at her and doesn’t say anything. Sansa can’t be sure if he’s waiting for her to continue or not, but Sansa decides, after a moment, to do just that.

 

“These marriages and betrothals… they were _people_ , just like all of us. All of us have stories to tell and just because their marriages were footnotes or their betrothals failed, that doesn’t mean that they still aren’t stories that shouldn’t be told.”

 

The kitchen is quiet for a moment and Mr. Snow is still looking at her. Sansa can also feel her mom and dad looking at her, but she can’t look at anyone other than Mr. Snow at this moment.

 

He gives her a nod. “You’re right.”

 

Sansa’s not sure why, but she feels a wave of relief wash over her, her muscles relaxing – and she hadn’t even realized they had been tense in the first place. She had needed Mr. Snow to agree with her on this for some reason. Why, she’s not quite sure, but she’s relieved all the same.

 

“Do you know any history books that delve into things like that?” Sansa asks. “I would love to read more about Bethany Blackwood specifically.”

 

Mr. Snow seems a mixture of surprised and intrigued at that, but then he pauses to think her question through. He then shakes his head. “I’m afraid I don’t. Not off the top of my head. I could go online and try to search…” he trails off when Sansa begins to shake her head.

 

“Have already done that,” Ned is the one to speak. “Been going through all the bookstores and searching online for anything like what Sansa is looking for. Nothing to be found.”

 

“Oh,” Mr. Snow seems almost disappointed by that; as if he had truly wanted to help her in her search. “Well, have you ever thought of writing your own?”

 

Sansa looks at him, her brow furrowed. “My own what?”

 

Mr. Snow gives her a small smile from across the table. “Your own book on Bethany Blackwood?”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely love this chapter and I hope you did, too. Thank you so much for reading!


	5. Mental Gymnastics

…

 

 **Five.** Mental Gymnastics.

 

“Sorry I’m late,” Jon says the instant the front door opens.

 

His best friend, Samwell Tarly, just smiles and holds the door open wider for Jon to come in. “Dinner’s really at six-thirty. I just told you it was at six.”

 

Jon nearly grimaces at that. “I’ve turned into _that_ person?” He asks, almost reluctantly.

 

Sam smiles and closes the door behind him. “You’ve always been that person. It’s just more obvious now. If it wasn’t studying, it was researching and if it wasn’t researching, it was writing papers and now, it’s grading papers.” Sam shrugs easily, still with a smile. “We’re used to it.”

 

“Great,” Jon grumbles and takes his bag from off his shoulder so he can take off his shoes and coat. Gilly, Sam’s wife, doesn’t care about people wearing shoes in the house. It’s Sam that has made it a rule. “Is it alright if I use your dining room just for a few minutes? I have a couple more papers to grade and then I’m done for the night. I promise.”

 

Sam just smiles and shakes his head, turning and heading towards the back of the house. Jon grabs his bag and follows after him. In the Tarly family room, the usual people are all already there.

 

Grenn Stanley, Sam and Jon have been best mates for years now. Sam and Jon met their first day, first semester, first year on campus at White Harbor University and they met Grenn two days later. He wasn’t a student and simply worked in the dorm cafeteria. The unlikely three met, clicked and remained so since then.

 

Grenn first moved to Winterfell when he met a nice girl, Maddie – also a student at the University – and once she graduated, she wanted to move back home to Winterfell and she asked Grenn to move with her. Grenn had no personal ties to White Harbor so in true Grenn fashion, he shrugged and said “Why the hell not?”.

 

Sam then moved to Winterfell after he graduated and when applying for residencies, he found an opening at the Winterfell General Community Hospital. He is studying to become a general physician and hopes to open his own practice one day, and not work in a hospital, but for now, the residency is going well and he is content. It was there that he met his now wife, Gilly, who is a nurse and after getting married, they had their first son within the year – Sam; Little Sam to everyone.

 

Sam and Gilly asked Jon to be Little Sam’s godfather, which Jon was both honored and more than happy to accept. Sam swiftly promised that their next child, Grenn would be the godfather.

 

“You have to say that or you know I’d punch you on the back of the head,” Grenn had said with a grin.

 

Tonight, Grenn and Maddie are already there, sitting on one of the couches, and Gilly is there as well, of course. There is a television show on and as soon as Grenn sees Jon enter, he quickly turns it off.

 

“What is it?” Jon asks, letting out a slight laugh even though he caught a flash of a scene.

 

It’s one of those drama stories that tell the ancient history of Westeros’ capital, King’s Landing – which is fine, if it didn’t try to come off as historically accurate. A lot of what happens on the show _did_ happen – assassination plots, betrayals, affairs – but this show, _The Capital_ , really – _really_ – likes to focus on the sex and bloodshed. Ratings and all that, Jon understands, but don’t try to say it’s historically accurate.

 

“Uncle Jon!” Little Sam, playing with his toys on the carpet, exclaims as soon as he sees him and pushing himself to his feet, the three-year-old comes tearing to him, Jon grinning and crouching down so Sam can run straight into his arms for a fierce hug.

 

“I’m watching that show that you love to hate and I’m not going to watch it with you in the room,” Grenn tells him, his eyes still on the television as he begins flipping through the channels.

 

“I love to hate it because it’s a piece of crap,” Jon says and it’s certainly not the first time he’s said it. He gives Little Sam one more squeeze before standing up and the boy returns to his toys.

 

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Maddie speaks up. “Some things can just be entertaining, Jon.”

 

Jon instantly recalls dinner at the Stark home two nights earlier and Catelyn Stark telling her husband something very similar to what Maddie has just said. Jon then recalls Ned Stark’s response.

 

“If you want to be entertained, go to the circus,” Jon says and Maddie and Gilly both promptly roll their eyes at him and Sam lets out a laugh as he settles himself down into one of the recliners. “And feel free to continue watching your trash, Grenn. I have a couple more papers to grade so I’ll be in the dining room.”

 

“All work and no play,” Gilly tells him with a smile.

 

Jon just smiles and doesn’t say anything to that as he heads from the family room to head into the dining room. At the table, he sets his bag down and reaches inside, pulling out stacks of papers and a notebook. He won’t tell his friends what he’s doing; no matter how good of friends they are to him. They will ask him endless questions because that’s what they do and Jon just doesn’t have answers for them. Not yet. Mainly because he, himself, really doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing either.

 

Suggesting to Sansa that she write her own book seemed the most logical thing to him. Isn’t that a big reason as to why people write; especially history books? They love a particular person or time period and can’t find the _exact_ thing they want to read so they decide to go for it and write it themselves? If Sansa can’t find what she wants to find on Bethany Blackwood, it just makes sense to Jon that she try to write something on Bethany Blackwood herself.

 

Introduction to Westeros History with Sansa had been that afternoon, but he hadn’t gotten the chance to speak with her. Another student had come up to him after class to talk about the pop quiz Jon had surprised everyone with that day – and by talk, it meant the student wanted to try and convince Jon to let him take it again – and Sansa had left, meeting Jon’s eyes and giving him a small smile on her way out the door.

 

Four hours later and Jon is trying his damned hardest to stop from dwelling on that smile; because that’s all it had been. A smile. A _student’s_ smile.

 

Students and teachers can smile at each other, of course, but teachers should not still be thinking about their student’s smile hours later.

 

He is a sick bastard clearly and what he’s doing right now just proves it even further.

 

Sansa can start her own research. He doesn’t even know if she is remotely interested in writing a book. It’s a task much easier said than done. Thousands of people get ideas to write books and how many actually do? He’s spending time, doing something that might be for naught.

 

And even if it’s not, even if Sansa decides that she _does_ want to write a book, she never asked for _his_ help. Jon knows she’s smart – one of his brightest students – and she can handle doing her own research. But he admits that he just can’t help himself. Once Ned and Sansa told him that they’ve looked and looked and can’t find anything more on Bethany Blackwood than the same two or three paragraphs written about her in every other history text, Jon’s been intrigued ever since. And relentless.

 

He wants to find something, _anything_ , that might be able to help her. He would do this for any student who came to him, expressing interest in a particular historical figure or time period.

 

That’s what he tells himself.

 

And that’s why he knows he’s a sick bastard; because that isn’t the truth and he knows it.

 

The doorbell rings and instantly, “I’ll get it!” comes from Sam. He comes from the family room through the dining room. “Shut it down for the night, Jon,” he gives him a wide smile on his way to the front door.

 

Jon sighs heavily and though he wants to keep looking through the pages he’s photocopied, he begins putting his things away into his bag. He stands and bends his back, grunting. He’s looking forward to the weekend. He plans on driving to his mom’s with his dog, Ghost, and helping her out with some things around her place and when he’s not doing that, he has no plans other than sleeping and catching up on some reading.

 

People might call him boring. Grenn has said it on one more than one occasion, but give him a quiet night on his sofa with a good book and a good bottle of beer and he is a happy man. He doesn’t look at it as boring. He’s simple and there’s never been any harm in enjoying a simple life and the simple things that fill it.

 

He wonders what Sansa likes to do on the weekends.

 

“Seven Hells,” he swears to himself harshly.

 

“Bad word, Uncle Jon!” Little Sam exclaims as he comes into the dining room just in time to hear it and the little boy is brimming with clear excitement at someone slipping a curse word around him.

 

“What did you say?” Gilly asks, having come into the room now as well, narrowing her eyes at Jon.

 

“Nothing _too_ bad,” Jon swears, almost holding his hands up to show his innocence. Gilly when she’s in mom-mode can be slightly terrifying. “Grenn was watching _The Capital_ with him in the same room and you didn’t say anything about that!” He then bursts out.

 

“Hey!” Grenn shouts from the family room, having overheard.

 

“The pizza has arrived!” Sam announces, sweeping into the kitchen, holding three boxes. “And our final dinner guest is here as well. Perfect timing.”

 

Forgetting about possibly murdering him just a second ago, when Sam says that, Gilly now smiles at Jon.

 

It’s Jon’s turn to narrow his eyes at her. “What did you do?” He hisses at her in a low voice.

 

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time Sam and Gilly or Grenn and Maddie have tried to set him up with a woman who they always deem as being “perfect for him”. He doesn’t know why his friends don’t believe him. And not just them, but his mom, too. They all can’t seem to believe that he doesn’t _want_ someone. At this particular moment in his life, he wants to be by himself.

 

Jon wasn’t aware that that was the worst thing in the world.

 

He was in a shit relationship for a couple of years and now, he’s in no hurry to get into another one. His friends and mom all  _know_ this. Why they choose to forget it or ignore it is beyond Jon.  

 

“She’s just one of my friends, Jon,” Gilly says before rolling her eyes. “One of my _oldest_ friends. Val.”

 

Jon is still frowning though and now crosses his arms over his chest.

 

“And she just so happens to be single, too,” Gilly then quickly adds.

 

“Seven Hells, Gilly,” Jon breathes, bowing his head forward.

 

“Seven Hells!” Little Sam parrots as he stomps out of the room for the kitchen to get pizza.

 

For once though, Jon doesn’t care about cursing in front of his godson. From the kitchen, he can now hear Gilly talking and another woman’s voice answering. A woman named Val; an old friend of Gilly’s who just so happens to be single and here tonight for dinner on the same night as Jon, also single, is as well.

 

He loves his friends, but they also annoy the hell out of him.

 

His eyes catch sight of his bag still on the table and he pauses to think of what’s inside the bag. Research on House Blackwood that he thinks might help one of his students for a project they may or may not choose to pursue; research that he’s taken upon himself to do even though this particular student never specifically asked him. She had asked him if he knew of any books that might have what she’s looking for and he was the one to take her question far above and beyond what she had initially asked.

 

And she’s his student. Sansa Stark is his student and she might be an older student, that still doesn’t change what she is. He’s her teacher and she’s his student and having _any_ kind of crush or feelings towards his student that goes beyond the normal feelings teachers have for their students is not only wrong, but sick, too. As he thought earlier, he’s a sick bastard and now, he’ll also call himself a pathetic sick bastard to boot.

 

Maybe meeting Gilly’s friend, Val, and talking with her wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. He clearly needs to get his mind focusing on any other woman in the entirety of Westeros than Sansa Stark.

 

…

 

He sips his coffee and swallows and as soon as he gets it down, there’s a gentle knock on his open office door. He lifts his eyes and his heart seizes in his chest within an instant even though he’s also noticed that he’s not surprised in the least to see her there.

 

“Did you wait until I swallowed?” Jon teases.

 

Sansa laughs softly. “I did.” She comes in only after he gestures to one of the chairs in front of his desk. He sits up a little straighter in his chair as Sansa comes in and sits down, resting her books in her lap and her messenger bag at her feet. “I was hoping to talk with you about something.”

 

“Class related or Bethany Blackwood related?” He asks.

 

He notes the pink of her cheeks and the soft smile across her lips.

 

He then forces himself to think of Val from dinner a few nights ago with her long blonde hair and grey eyes. Thinking of Val seems to be a much safer image on his mind rather than Sansa, with her interest in history and the way she had felt, leaning against his chest for support when she had had a terrible headache. Teachers thinking of how students feel is _not_ a good thing to have on his mind.

 

“Bethany Blackwood,” Sansa says and then moves forward until she’s perched on the edge of her seat. “I… I haven’t stopped thinking about what you said. About me writing my own book on Bethany Blackwood and I never would have ever had such a thought, but then you said it and I can’t think of anything else.”

 

Jon smiles a little. “You should do it. Maybe you’re not the only one interested in Bethany Blackwood and if you _are_ the only one interested, you write a book and I bet a bunch more people will be.”

 

Sansa smiles in reply. “Do you really think I could? I mean… I write in a journal and I write papers for my courses, but that’s hardly the same thing.”

 

“I’ve never written a book myself, but I think it might help if you don’t sit down and think of what you’re doing. I think it will help if you just sit down and start writing and see what comes of it.” Jon wonders if he’s talking out of his ass right now or if anything he’s saying has any grain of sense to it.

 

But Sansa is looking at him and clearly listening to every word he is saying.

 

Jon can’t help, but move his eyes away from hers for a moment and take another sip of coffee; just to have himself do something else at that precise moment. If he keeps looking at her, he’s going to look at the way her hair is braided that day and how lovely it - and she - looks.

 

“Or maybe it will help if you think of it this way. If there _was_ a book on Bethany Blackwood out there already and you were reading it, what kind of book would you want it to be?” He wonders.

 

Sansa is quiet at that, still looking at him. “I think you’re brilliant, Mr. Snow,” she then says – rather suddenly – and he watches as her cheeks explode in a blush.

 

And Jon can feel his own cheeks blush at her compliment.

 

Seven Hells, he really can’t have her saying things like that to him.

 

He clears his throat and does his best to give her a smile though it’s rather small and forced and he’s afraid that it might look like more of a grimace than a smile.

 

“Yes, well, I’m your teacher. That’s what I’m here for.”

 

Jon is absolutely positive he’s imagining it. He wonders if he’s just seeing things because it’s what he wants to see. But when he says that – when he speaks of his role in her life – Jon can almost swear that Sansa looks disappointed; as if she hates to be reminded of such a thing. If that is what he is really seeing and not just imagining, Jon wants to tell her that he knows the feeling. 

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a completely different beginning of this chapter planned, but I felt like my fingers took over this one and my brain was just along for the ride. I will have to get Jon over to the Starks for dinner again so Jon and Ned can talk some more :) Also, Grenn doesn't have a last name so I gave him the last name of the actor who portrays him on the show. THANK YOU very much for reading!


	6. Inappropriate Thoughts

…

 

 **Six.** Inappropriate Thoughts.

 

**_W: Hey! I’m in the neighborhood and was wondering if you want to meet in the coffee shop in the union? If you have time?_ **

****

Sansa’s cell phone dings with the new text message and she lifts it up from where she has it resting next to her arm on the table and smiles when she sees it’s from her sister-in-law.

 

**_S: lol I’m actually already in here_ **

****

**_W: See you in a few!_ **

****

Sansa sets her phone down again and looks back down to the book open in front of her, quickly finding where she had left off. For the countless time, she has to wonder how her dad and brother read so many history books without constantly just dropping off and falling asleep while doing so.

 

These books are just so… dry. The authors – for apparently writing these books because they love these people or time periods – don’t seem to write these topics with much love. They all spew the same dates and names and events and seem to put very little of themselves into it. Sansa knows they can’t do that _too_ much. This is, after all, non-fiction and people read these kinds of books to educate themselves and when they read non-fiction, they expect to be reading _correct_ information.

 

But surely, the authors could make names, dates and events just a little bit more interesting.

 

Sansa thinks of Mr. Snow and what he had said in his office.

 

_If there was a book on Bethany Blackwood out there already and you were reading it, what kind of book would you want it to be?_

 

Sansa’s been asking that question over and over in her mind since he’s asked it. What kind of book would she like to read on Bethany Blackwood? Besides _any_ kind of book written on her? Well, to be honest, Sansa wants to read something happy for Bethany. She had died, not quite nineteen yet, of a fever and her last words – _But I loved him_ – seemed to be said with pain and sadness and yes, Sansa would want to read a happy ending for Bethany Blackwood because it was obvious that she hadn’t been able to have one in her true life.

 

Would she be able to write that for Bethany? It obviously wouldn’t be a historically accurate non-fiction book, but she also thinks of what else Mr. Snow had told her.

 

_I think it will help if you just sit down and start writing and see what comes of it._

 

Maybe she’ll do that tonight when she goes home. She can open her laptop, sit at her desk and just sees what happens. Maybe she could just begin to write a story for Bethany Blackwood and see what her fingers and mind come up with when working together. Can she actually do this? Can she actually write a book?

 

As Sansa turns the page in her book, she sees a familiar green coat from the corner of her eye and turning her head, she smiles when she sees her sister-in-law, Wynafryd Stark, stepping into the coffee shop. And when Wynafryd sees her sitting at a table, her smile is instant as well.

 

“Hi,” Winnie smiles and bends down, kissing Sansa on the cheek. “Do you need a refill?” She looks to the paper cup by Sansa’s hand.

 

“Oh…” Sansa blinks at it for a moment. “I honestly completely forgot I had ordered anything…” if that was a confession to anyone outside of her family, she would have felt complete embarrassment; and even saying that to a family member, she still feels her cheeks grow warm.

 

Winnie just smiles though and she takes off her coat and hangs it on the chair across from Sansa. Sansa picks up her paper cup – it’s ice cold – and she hands it to Winnie so it can be thrown away. Sansa then resumes reading as her sister-in-law goes to the counter to order them fresh, _hot_ drinks.

 

Leave it to her brother to meet his soulmate while on a week of spring break debauchery down in Dorne.

 

According to Robb, the story goes like this.

 

He was on a beach, playing volleyball with his group of friends. Of course, they all had their shirts off and were doing their best to impress the flocks of girls on the beach with them. One girl though wasn’t paying attention at all. Instead, she was typing on her phone, looking a mixture of pissed off and sad. Robb found himself watching this girl more than the others. Maybe it was because she was a pretty girl with green eyes and dark brown hair, pulled into a braid over her shoulder. Maybe it was the one piece bathing-suit she wore that left a bit of her body up to his imagination. Or maybe it was when she let out a frustrated swear and threw her phone in her bag before standing up and stalking away.

 

Robb had called out to his friends that he’d be back and he had then gone jogging off after this girl.

 

“Boy trouble?” Robb asked once he had caught up to her.

 

She had looked at him as if she had no idea what he had just said. And then, after a moment, she sighed heavily. “My dad. I keep telling him I’m nineteen, but apparently, that number means absolutely nothing.”

 

Robb nodded. “My mom’s the one like that. I’m the oldest, but according to her, I’ll always be her baby.” She smiled at that and Robb smiled, too. He then stuck out his hand. “Robb Stark.”

 

She kept smiling as she stopped and faced him so she could shake his hand. “Wynafryd Manderly.”

 

They spent the rest of the afternoon, talking and getting to know one another – their bond seemingly instant from both being from the North, but attending college in the South and missing home so much – and Robb may have been drinking beers steadily all day, but he wasn’t drunk in the least when he leaned in and kissed Wynafryd for the first time that evening.

 

According to Winnie, the next morning, she woke up early with Robb snoring beside her and she quickly and silently gathered her things before hurrying from the hotel room, embarrassed and ashamed of herself. She had _never_ done anything remotely like that and she didn’t like how she felt.

 

When Robb woke up and saw that he was alone, he then proceeded to spend the next two days, searching for his dream girl in the throngs of other spring breakers. No such luck though (unbeknownst to Robb at the time, Wynafryd had left (fled) Dorne earlier than expected to go back to university).

 

Robb hated to admit he did such a thing, but thanks to Facebook and Instagram and the fact that she had given him her first and last names, stalking Wynafryd Manderly was quite easy and once he returned to his own university, he found her almost immediately.

 

He messaged her more times than he still cares to admit before she finally replied back to him and that began their two-year long-distance relationship with one another; summers spent with either Wynafryd coming to Winterfell or Robb going to White Harbor, where she was from.

 

And on the day of their graduations, Robb proposed.

 

Just thinking of the story now, Sansa finds herself smiling, imagining writing Bethany Blackwood in a modern spring break scenario, meeting her true love. That would definitely _not_ be historically accurate, but it almost makes her laugh just imagining it nonetheless.  

 

“Here we go,” Winnie comes back to their table with a paper cup in each hand. “Mocha cappuccinos.”

 

“Perfect,” Sansa smiles and takes one of the cups while closing the book she’s reading from. “Thank you.”

 

Winnie gets settled in her seat and turns one of the books in front of Sansa around towards her so she can look over the front cover. She smiles as she takes a sip of her coffee. “Robb was telling me about this,” she then says, turning the book back towards Sansa again.

 

“Did he make it sound stupid?” Sansa wonders.

 

“Not at all,” Winnie shakes her head, still smiling. “He actually sounded extremely jealous that you were going to be writing a history book.”

 

“ _Thinking_ of writing a history book,” Sansa corrects her and takes a careful sip from her own drink. “And actually, I might need your help with it.”

 

“Yes,” Winnie readily agrees without pause and it makes Sansa let out a slight laugh.

 

Sansa loves her sister-in-law; absolutely loves her. Wynafryd Stark is simply put, a good and genuinely nice person; the kind of person everyone needs at least one of in their lives. And with Arya away in Braavos for college, Sansa very much likes and appreciates having a sister, still, around.

 

After the accident and losing Harry, and weeks in the hospital followed with months of rehab, Sansa has lost contact with her friends from high school. That and it was also hard to talk with the ones she did try to keep in contact with; they constantly crying or wanting to talk about Harry and Sansa never knowing what to say.

 

Since the accident, the only constants in her life has been her family and sometimes, she does miss having at least a few friends, but she loves her family and they love her and Sansa has no idea where she would be right now if she didn’t have them.

 

“So, I’ve been reading and many of the Blackwoods are buried in the village, Cairns, in the Riverlands. I think if I’m going to do this, _really_ do this, I need to go to Cairns for some research and I wouldn’t be able to get there by myself-”

 

“I’ll talk to Robb. We’ll plan a research road trip!” Winnie plans with an eager smile, reading Sansa’s mind.

 

“And will you take the pictures for me?” Sansa asks, hopeful.

 

“If I must,” Winnie sighs in reply, but she’s smiling as she takes another sip of coffee. “So, you’re really going to do this?”

 

Sansa pauses to think over the question before giving her answer. _Is_ she going to do this? She very much wants to, she admits. Maybe Mr. Snow is right. Maybe if she writes this book – whether it’s historical fiction or not – other people will read it and find themselves interested in Bethany Blackwood just like she is.

 

She then thinks of Mr. Snow. She knows she thinks of her history teacher far more than would be appropriate, but when it comes to the man, she can’t seem to help herself. She knows it’s not right; even if she is twenty-two and he doesn’t seem that much older. That doesn’t matter though because he’s her teacher and she’s his student and Sansa knows it doesn’t matter what their ages are. Few people would actually smile upon them if something _did_ happen while she was still in his class.

 

It just wouldn’t be right no matter how it was sliced.

 

And yet, she seems to be thinking of Mr. Snow all of the time; whether she tries to stop herself or not – and most of the time, if she’s being honest, Sansa doesn’t try to stop herself. She sits in class and listens to his every word during the lectures, never taking her eyes off of him. He’s the first male she’s really looked at since Harry – which is confusing in itself since Mr. Snow and Harry look absolutely nothing alike and Sansa would think that when she did look at males again, someone more like Harry would catch her eye. Maybe, in the accident when she hit her head and was injured, her taste in men was also rattled.

 

He is such a smart man and kind and patient – no matter how silly or stupid a question might seem to Sansa, Mr. Snow answers anything and everything about what they’re reading and learning.

 

And on top of all of that, he seems to truly believe that Sansa can write this if she wants to. He believes in her and just thinking of Mr. Snow’s encouragement and approval, it gives Sansa warmth in her chest that makes her want to just close her eyes and smile. Someone who isn’t related to her believes in her and Sansa finds that she could get very used to that feeling of warmth.

 

Sansa looks to Winnie and finally answers her question. “I think I’m really going to do this.”

 

…

 

Sansa can only hope that it’s not _too_ obvious that she’s packing up her things extremely slow at the end of the class, but the other girl is still talking to Mr. Snow at his desk and Sansa wants to talk with him when no one else is around, she admits.

 

“ _Way_ too obvious,” Harry tells her. He’s been lounging in the empty seat next to her, snoring away and sleeping for the entire lecture.

 

“It’s not obvious at all,” Sansa argues with him in her mind. “You know I move slower these days.”

 

Harry just smiles. “Not that slow, love.”

 

As Sansa stands up to slip on her coat, the other girl finally leaves and it’s just her and Mr. Snow in the lecture hall. He is stacking his books and putting papers away into his bag and Sansa feels her stomach tighten when he lifts his head then, his eyes landing on her and he gives her the most beautiful smile. It’s small and Sansa tells herself that he doesn’t mean for it to be, but it’s a beautiful smile all the same.

 

“Another headache?” Mr. Snow asks as he hurries to the bottom of the steps as Sansa comes down.

 

“I’m alright,” she smiles, touched that he would be concerned about that. “I wanted to speak with you. I won’t be able to come to lecture on Friday. I have a doctor’s appointment that day and I’ll be sure to bring you a doctor’s note on Monday.”

 

Mr. Snow looks at her, his lips twitching in a smile. “Thank you for that, Sansa, but that’s not necessary. I believe you,” he says and he’s looking into her eyes, letting Sansa know that she has his complete attention.

 

The tightening in her stomach worsens. He’s such a handsome man and right now, he’s looking at her as if she’s the only thing he can see. She wishes she would stop such thoughts when it comes to her history teacher – it’s be _much_ better for her mind if she could – but she can’t seem to. It seems the more she tries to tell herself so stop having inappropriate thoughts concerning her teacher, the more inappropriate they get.

 

For instance, right now, despite her best efforts, Sansa is imagining what it would feel like if Mr. Snow took her in his arms and kissed her as he laid her down right on top of his desk. She looks to the beard he has and wonders what that would feel like against her skin as he kissed her. She’s never been kissed by someone with a beard. She’s never been kissed by anyone except Harry and his face had always been smooth. If Mr. Snow was to kiss her with that beard, Sansa would know that that’s what being kissed by a _man_ is like.

 

“Are you alright?” Mr. Snow’s concern cuts through her _inappropriate_ thoughts.

 

Sansa shakes her head slightly and gives him a somewhat shaky smile. “I’m alright. I’m sorry. _Thank you_ , Mr. Snow, for understanding about Friday. Will I be missing anything terribly important?”

 

“It’s all terribly important, Ms. Stark,” Mr. Snow smiles at her then and Sansa finds herself smiling and blushing.

 

If it was any other man except her teacher, Sansa would almost think that he was flirting with her just now.

 

“If you’d like, I could bring the assignment to your house on Friday evening,” Mr. Snow then offers.

 

Sansa stares at him and watches the way Mr. Snow quickly looks away from her and begins to rub a hand on the back of his neck; as if he can’t quite believe that he has just that. Sansa understands the thought as she is having the exact same one right now at his offer.

 

“I meant,” Mr. Snow clears her throat and finally is able to look at her again. Sansa is looking into his face and she realizes her lungs are burning from holding her breath, waiting for whatever he is going to say. “I just…” he sighs then. “I would hate for you to fall behind, Sansa.”

 

Sansa is getting an “A” in his class and she doesn’t doubt that he already knows that. Missing one class certainly won’t set her back _that_ much; something, again, they both know, she doesn’t doubt.

 

Having a teacher come to her house to drop off an assignment – even with her parents there – seems as inappropriate as any thought she’s been having and yet, Sansa feels her stomach knot give way to flutters.

 

“I would really appreciate that. Thank you, Mr. Snow,” Sansa gives him a small smile.

 

Mr. Snow stares at her and she wonders what kind of thoughts he’s having in his mind right now and what he sees when he looks at her.

 

“Of course, Sansa,” he says and she finds herself still smiling as she looks at him and slowly, Mr. Snow begins to smile, too.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon sees Sansa's bedroom in the next chapter and he sees what research she has done already as they talk about her possible book. Thank you very much for reading!


	7. Great Distance Together

…

 

**Seven.** Great Distance Together.

Jon was so tempted to call Val at the last-minute and ask her out to an early dinner that Friday evening. He thought that if he went out to dinner with a woman he had every right in the world to go out with to eat, he wouldn’t feel quite as sick a bastard for going over to a student’s house later.

 

He still has no idea why the thought of offering to bring her the missed assignment from lecture even crossed his mind, but the words blurted out from his mouth before he could stop them. And once they were out there in the open air for Sansa to hear, Jon doesn’t know why he didn’t immediately recede on the offer. He’s been thinking over and over again of how his growing feelings for his _student_ are completely inappropriate and he has to keep things as professional between himself and Sansa as he does with every other student.

 

So why the fuck is his car pulling into the Stark driveway at six o’clock on a Friday evening? And why didn’t he call Val and ask if she wanted to go out for dinner?

 

Dinner at Sam and Gilly’s, and the subsequent set-up ambush when he and Val were introduced, wasn’t as awful as other attempted set-ups from his friends have been in the past. Val is a very pretty woman – beautiful even – and she seems to have a good personality, laughing and joking. From what little Jon had learned about her, he knows that they don’t have much in common.

 

Grenn had asked her flat out if she liked to read and Jon had seen the slight shake of her head. “Not really,” was her response and it’s a response Jon never understands when people give it. If they don’t read, what the hell do they do? If Jon isn’t teaching or grading or preparing lessons, he’s reading.

 

She’s a yoga instructor and Jon goes running with his dog, Ghost, but anything other than that, he has a feeling doing yoga isn’t his particular cup of tea. He certainly can’t imagine buying a mat and going to some studio to do nothing, but stretch.

 

Still though, Val seems very nice. And _appropriate_.

 

Jon sighs heavily now as he remains behind the steering wheel for a moment, looking up towards the house.

 

He should not be here. He should not be here.

 

Over and over again, he says those words to himself even as he takes the folder from his passenger seat, finally gets out of his car and heads up the front path to the front porch. He repeats the mantra in his head until he sticks his finger out and rings the illuminated doorbell and instantly hears the dogs on the other side of the front door; Lady, Sansa’s dog, and Shaggydog, Rickon’s dog. The Starks are dog lovers and all five children have their own. With moving around so much, his mother was never able to get Jon a dog when he was younger though it was all he had wanted and as soon as he was graduated and out on his own, he made sure his flat would permit it before he got a dog. Finally.

 

He smiles a little, listening to them bark and then Ned Stark’s voice approaching. “Shut up!” He tells the animals and Jon smiles a bit more. He likes this family; not just their daughter. Is that inappropriate as well? Liking a student’s family; a student who he already knows he should keep respectful distance from, but instead, is standing on her front porch on a Friday evening?

 

Jon has to wonder when he became a character straight out of an explicit adult film.

 

“Jon!” Ned answers the door, smiling the instant he sees him. “Come in, come in.”

 

With one leg, Ned is able to hold the dogs back enough for him to unlock the storm door, letting Jon into the front hallway. As soon as Ned puts his leg down though, Lady and Shaggydog pounce on Jon; Jon grinning as he does his best to bestow equal attention to each dog.

 

“Sansa!” Ned then calls out as he shuts the front door behind them both. “Knock it off!” He then orders the dogs, who, of course, don’t listen. “How are you, Jon?” Ned asks Jon with a smile.

 

Jon straightens from the dogs and returns the smile. “Going well, sir,” he answers and Ned gives him a look for that. “Ned,” Jon amends and Ned smiles again. “I’ve come to drop off Sansa’s assignment from class. Did…” he pauses for a moment, wondering if he should ask, but finally telling himself that there’s no harm in being polite. “I hope her doctor’s appointment went well,” he finally decides to say.

 

“It did,” Ned gives a nod. “There’s been no change, which we have learned, is just what we want. She’ll never be one-hundred percent again, but as long as she doesn’t slip in the opposite direction, we’re all happy.”

 

Jon has no idea what to say to that so he just nods his head because it’s all he can think to do.

 

He thinks of how if Sansa hadn’t gotten that terrible headache in his class and nearly fallen over because of it, he would never know anything was the matter with her; would never even think anything was possibly the matter. It seems as if everything left over from the car crash had been internal and whatever damage it is, Sansa is masterful at hiding it.

 

“Can I get you something to drink?” Ned asks and turns to head down the hallway towards the kitchen, Jon following after him.

 

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Jon replies, his throat feeling a bit dry and he refuses to allow himself to think it’s because he’s here, this evening; somewhere he knows he shouldn’t be.

 

Ned remembers that Jon had drank ginger ale last time he was here and the man gets another can from the refrigerator, getting a glass as well, setting both down in front of Jon.

 

“Thank you,” Jon says.

 

“So, what was the class about today?” Ned asks, sounding a bit eager and it makes Jon smile.

 

“We’re in the middle of our last unit before the end of the semester. The Seven Kingdoms, pre-Aegon. Today, we learned more about the various wilding invasions and the Kings-beyond-the-Wall, Gendel and Gorne.”

 

Jon sees the way Ned’s eyes light up when Jon tells him that. Jon learned, quite quickly, that Ned Stark absolutely loves early Northern history. Just from one meal with the man, Jon knows that this man knows his stuff and could probably teach his own class if Ned wished to do so. It might be because the Stark family is such an old family in the North and much of this history involves them in one way or another.

 

As a lover of history, Jon can admit he’s jealous of that.

 

“The last unit? So, obviously, you won’t be able to cover the Targaryen Dynasty part of Westeros History,” Ned guesses, retrieving his own can of ginger ale.

 

Jon has just taken a sip from his glass and he shakes his head. “Class ends just before Aegon’s Conquest. If students wish to, or _need_ to take another, the Targaryen Dynasty has their own course. There’s just too much to cover to fit it into my _History of Westeros_ course.”

 

“Do you teach that as well?” Ned wonders.

 

“Gods, no,” Jon replies before he can stop himself. “Sorry,” he then says, but Ned just smiles. “Targaryen history isn’t necessarily my favorite,” he then admits.

 

“Nor mine,” Ned agrees.

 

Hearing steps behind him, Jon turns and sees Sansa coming. He stands just a little bit straighter and hopes his face isn’t giving anything away; such as how happy he is to see her. Sansa is already smiling at the sight of him so Jon smiles as well, thinking that returning a smile isn’t that terrible of something to do.

 

“Hi, Mr. Snow,” Sansa greets, still smiling as she comes into the kitchen.

 

“Hello, Sansa,” he says in return and does his best to not just stare at her. “As promised,” he then says and slides the folder on the counter towards her. “I’m sure you’ll get through this in a breeze.”

 

Sansa opens the folder and sees the quiz he had given in class that day and then she smiles at him. “I can take it right now at the kitchen table,” she offers. “My textbook is upstairs so I won’t be able to look anything up.”

 

Jon smiles; unable to keep from doing so. “Like you would need to look anything up anyway,” he replies and her cheeks turn the most beautiful shade of pink at that.

 

He watches as she finds a pencil in a cup of other pencils and pens on the counter before going to the kitchen table with the quiz, settling herself down in one of the seats. He tells himself to stop looking at her. He’s been looking at her for too long already.

 

And sure enough, when Jon is able to rip his eyes away and turn his head towards his glass of ginger ale, he sees that Ned is watching him; the man obviously knowing that this man had been staring at his daughter in a way that no teacher should ever be looking at his student.

 

Jon isn’t too sure what to do.

 

“Dinner!” Rickon suddenly exclaims and then he’s hurrying into the kitchen from – what Jon assumes to be the laundry room that leads into the garage – with two massive pizza boxes in his hands.

 

Thank the Gods, Jon breathes to himself, lowering his eyes and taking another sip of ginger ale. What a sick bastard he is. And now, Sansa’s father knows it, too.

 

“Shhh,” Ned looks to his son. “Your sister’s taking a quiz.”

 

“But pizza,” Rickon says with a frown.

 

“I’m almost done,” Sansa speaks up. “And you don’t have to be silent. Mr. Snow’s right. I know this.” After that, she glances to Jon with a small smile and Jon forces himself to look anywhere, _but_ Sansa.

 

Catelyn comes in through the laundry room like Rickon had and smiles when she sees everyone in the kitchen. “Mr. Snow, I’m so glad you could come for dinner again,” she says upon seeing him there as well.

 

“Shhh, mom,” Rickon says in a dramatic loud whisper. “Sansa’s taking a quiz. We have to be silent.” A pink eraser suddenly flies from the table, across the room and hits Rickon in his shoulder. “Hey!” The boy exclaims in the middle of laughing.

 

Jon finds himself smiling around the rim of his glass as he takes a sip of ginger ale.

 

“Come on,” Rickon suddenly says, coming to Jon’s side. “We’ll go in the family room. When we eat pizza, it’s the only time mom lets us eat in there.”

 

He hands Jon a paper plate before helping himself to four triangle slices of pizza as if he won’t be able to come back for seconds. Jon almost smirks. Rickon’s a fifteen-year-old boy. He will have no problem wolfing down these four slices and then coming back for seconds.

 

Jon takes two slices of the pepperoni and he pauses at the table before following Rickon from the room. Sansa looks up from her paper; he can see that she has three more questions and he know she won’t, but he says it to her anyway.

 

“If you need me...” he says and she smiles with a nod.

 

“I know where you’ll be, Mr. Snow,” she says and Jon doesn’t want to smile at her, but with her looking up at him, Jon can’t help, but feel his lips twitch nonetheless. “After we eat, would you be able to stay for a few more minutes? I wanted to show you something I’ve begun working on. It’s about Bethany Blackwood.”

 

No, Snow. NO. It’s bad enough he’s come here for dinner and to give her a quiz when he could so easily have asked her to stay after class sometime next week. It’s bad enough that he’s looking at her for too long and her _father_ has noticed. No to anything else. No to staying longer than he should. No, Snow. Just. No.

 

But apparently, his brain and mouth are in completely disagreement with one another and seem to be warring with each other like a couple of useless idiots because everything _very good_ thought his brain has just had, his mouth seems to be far from being on the same page.

 

Jon gives Sansa the smallest smile. “I would love to see it.”

 

For fuck’s sake, Snow.

 

…

 

He’s certain that Ned and Catelyn had told Rickon to come with them and Jon is grateful for that more than he knows he’ll ever be able to express. Rickon, thankfully, doesn’t make a protest and call attention to it and simply leads the way up the stairs and into Sansa’s bedroom as if it was the plan all along that he would come. Jon follows them up the stairs and wonders why Sansa just didn’t bring whatever she wanted to show him down into the family room; the _appropriate_ family room.

 

But as soon as he enters the room, he sees why.

 

With a heavy sigh, Rickon falls backwards across the foot of the full-size bed. “I am stuffed and feel slightly ill,” he informs them both while resting his hands on his stomach.

 

“You ate seven pieces of pizza like an idiot,” Sansa points out to him.

 

Jon barely hears them though and he looks to the wall next to Sansa’s desk. “Wow,” he then breathes. “Did you make this?” He steps across the dark gray shag rug in the middle of the bedroom to get himself closer to the wall and what Sansa has hanging there.

 

It’s a large piece of paper; a size that has to be specially bought at an arts store. And on this piece of paper, with great care with thick black marker and straight lines, Sansa has created the House Blackwood family tree as it was at the end of the third century.

 

“I did,” Sansa nods, coming to stand at his side. “I’m going to be working on the House Bracken family tree next. It’s just a way for me to keep names and relationships straight as I research and then begin to write.”

 

That makes Jon turn towards her. “So you’re really going to write this?” He asks.

 

For a moment, Sansa looks at him and doesn’t say anything. “Should I… I think I can do this,” she says though her words sound anything, but confident.

 

“Of course you can do this,” he is swift to assure her; his words strong and true. “You’re doing it already.” He looks back to the family tree for a moment before back to Sansa, seeing her cheeks turn pink again.

 

He feels so proud of her and so impressed with her and he wonders if he should tell her those things. He hardly knows her at all, but what he does know, he finds that he just wants to know more and more until he knows everything there is to know about Sansa Stark.

 

He doesn’t tell her any of these things though.

 

“My older brother, Robb, his wife, Winnie, and I are going to be taking a research trip to the village of Cairns in Riverrun. Many of the Blackwoods are buried there and I’m going to try and see if I can find Bethany’s tombstone. If she’s buried there. Some of the Blackwoods were buried at the House weirwood. ”

 

Sansa moves past him towards her desk, where she has a few books and an open notebook. She sets that aside and opens one of the books and Jon stands next to her, watching as one of the pages unfolds into a map of Westeros from the third century. Jon leans down to get a closer look as Sansa points to Cairns on the map though he already knows its location.

 

“I’ll start there and depending on what I find in Cairns, it might help me decide which way to go,” Sansa says and she turns her head to look at him.

 

Jon is almost startled at how close he finds their heads to be. How had their heads gotten this close together?

 

Jon takes a sudden step back from her and the book and the desk as if someone’s just stabbed him in the back with a thumbtack. He glances back over his shoulder to see if Rickon had actually done that, but the boy is still sprawled across Sansa’s bed, seemingly not paying attention to them at all.

 

Sansa seems startled, too, and she quickly steps towards the wall.

 

“Yes, well,” Jon pauses, needing to stop his speeding heart; needing to catch his breath.

 

That close to her, he had been able to see just how blue her eyes truly are. Her eyes are beautiful; eyes he could easily see himself staring into as they share a table at some coffee shop, sitting close and talking history for hours; losing all sense of time because of those eyes.

 

“That sounds like an excellent plan, Sansa,” he finally is able to say, his heart still drumming.

 

Sansa takes a breath and nods, tucking strands of hair behind her ears. “Thank you, Mr. Snow,” she replies and Jon’s not imagining it. She sounds just as breathless as he does; as if they’ve both run a great distance together and can no longer breathe.

 

Sansa turns back towards her desk, carefully folding the map away, and Jon takes another step backwards while taking a deep breath. There is a full-length mirror and Jon turns towards it, to see if he looks as rattled as he feels. He seems to look as he always does; surprisingly. There is a picture in one of the top corners of the mirror and Jon can’t help, but take a step closer towards it to see what it is. It’s a boy – young man – sitting on a skateboard, giving the camera a warm smile. Jon had only seen his picture once – from the article he had read – but Jon recognizes the young man immediately and knows that this is Harry.

 

He looks at the picture for another moment before looking back to Sansa. She’s still at her desk, taking great time in tidying things up even though nothing has to be tidied; clearing doing anything to distract herself. Jon can’t help, but glance towards the picture of Harry.

 

He doesn’t know why it should bother him – it _shouldn’t_ bother him in the least because why should it? – but Jon can’t help, but notice that he and Harry look nothing alike.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. The more I write of this one, the more I just fall in love. I've already begun the next chapter and it will feature a Robb POV part :) Thank you again!


	8. The Big Brother Test

…

 

**Eight.** The Big Brother Test.

“Winnie.”

 

Robb says his wife’s name, turning back towards her and frowning a little when he sees his wife and mother whispering to one another. Again. They’ve been doing that all morning. At least Robb knows it’s not about him. When they _do_ talk about him, they make no secrets about it. But still, Robb doesn’t know if he likes the constant whispering between the two and having no idea what the whispering is about.

 

“Winnie,” he says again and this time, Winnie turns her head away from Catelyn to look to Robb. “What do you think?” Robb asks, holding up yet another paint chip. “Blueberry muffin,” he points to it.

 

As he knew it would, his wife smiles as soon as she hears the pain color name. Winnie steps forward to take the chip from him for her own closer look.

 

“And where was the other one that looks like this shade, but isn’t this shade?” Winnie asks.

 

Thankfully, Robb understands Wynafryd Stark speak and he grabs the other paint chip she’s referring to. “Memorybook blue,” he says and holds this paint chip up to the blueberry muffin chip she holds. “What do you think? I’m leaning towards the muffin. A little darker, but not too much and it’s nothing like sky blue.”

 

“Remind me again why you hate sky blue,” Winnie says, giving him a smile.

 

“I see enough of the sky. I don’t need it in my home, too,” Robb states plainly. “Mom, what do you think?”

 

Catelyn coming to the hardware store – especially with her son and daughter-in-law – is not in the norm for her at all, but her husband’s birthday is next month and when Robb had mentioned to her yesterday on the phone that he and Winnie were going to the hardware store to look at paint the next day, Catelyn had asked if she could perhaps tag along with them, hoping something would jump out at her that would make a good present for Ned.

 

“I like the Blueberry muffin as well,” Catelyn agrees. “And this is for your home office?” She asks Robb.

 

“I promise, mom,” Robb hands Winnie the Blueberry Muffin chip and then begins putting the others back into their appropriate slots on the paint color display. “If it was for a nursery, we would let you know in someplace other than in a hardware paint aisle. So one gallon should do it?” He asks Winnie.

 

“We’re just painting the one wall so one gallon should be plenty,” she confirms. “And if not, guess you’re just coming back for more.”

 

As Robb goes to the counter to get the paint mixed, waiting, he looks back and sure enough, his wife and mom are whispering to one another again. “Alright. What the hell are you two talking about?” He asks, no longer able to pretend he doesn’t see.

 

“Nothing, dear,” Catelyn says immediately.

 

“Just talking,” Winnie shrugs and gives him a smile.

 

Robb thanks the man behind the counter and takes the can of paint, bringing it and setting it down in the shopping cart, frowning at both of them. “What?” He asks again.

 

“We were just talking about Sansa,” Catelyn says.

 

Robb is immediately at attention. “What about Sansa? I thought her doctor’s appointment was fine.”

 

“It was. _She’s_ fine, Robb,” Catelyn assures his oldest with a smile, reaching out to squeeze his arm. “I was just telling Winnie that Sansa likes her history professor, Mr. Snow.”

 

“Oh.” Robb frowns a little at that, wondering why that would be a cause for all of this whispering. “Well, it’s good that she likes him.” He takes the cart handle and begins pushing it up the aisle. He stops suddenly and spins back towards both women. “Wait. _How_ does she like him?”

 

“Like how a woman likes a man,” Winnie clarifies for him, not even trying to hide a smile.

 

Robb keeps frowning. “He’s her teacher.”

 

“He’s a very nice young man. He’s actually probably right around your age. He’s been to dinner at our house a couple of times and he’s very well-spoken, polite and intelligent.”

 

“Apparently, he’s quite a looker, too,” Winnie adds with a wider smile.

 

“He’s her teacher,” Robb repeats, the frown still on his face. “Sansa likes her teacher?”

 

“Sansa likes a young man who just happens to be her teacher,” Catelyn clarifies; as if that makes it better.

 

“It’s good, Robb,” Winnie comes to his side and places a hand over her husband’s. “It’s good your sister likes a man. There hasn’t been anyone since Harry.”

 

Robb doesn’t say anything to that because he knows it to be the truth. He knows it’s been four years, but Sansa is still recovering. Robb can’t even imagine what it had been like for her that night of the crash. He has lost count of how many times he’s thanked the Gods that Sansa had been unconscious for most of her time trapped in that car with Harry, dead, next to her.

 

If she _does_ remember anything from the crash, she’s never told or confided in any of them about it.

 

Robb knows his sister had loved Harry. Would they still be together if that accident had never happened? He doubts it, but maybe they would have surprised everyone. In high school, dating for as long as they had been, Robb knows that they had been in love. And when Sansa had nearly died and had lost Harry, she wasn’t the same Sansa after that. Gods, could _anyone_ be the same person they were if they had been in a horrible crash and lost someone they loved?

 

It’s been four years and Sansa hasn’t even looked at another male, let alone have any feelings towards one. So, Robb’s not exactly thrilled that his sister apparently likes her history professor, but Robb has to agree with his wife and his mother. Her liking someone again… it _is_ good.

 

He sighs heavily. “She hasn’t done anything… inappropriate, has she?” He then finds himself having to ask.

 

Both Catelyn and Winnie frown at him for that.

 

“What?” He exclaims a little too loudly. “My sister likes her history professor and we all know Sansa is a beautiful young woman. Any man would love attention from her.”

 

“Your sister is not the sort to be inappropriate with a teacher and you know that, Robert,” Catelyn frowns and Robb doesn’t care how old he is. He nearly flinches when his mom calls him by his given name.

 

“I know, I know,” he is quick to amend himself. “I just…” he trails off.

 

He just worries about Sansa. They all do. And he worries that if this the first man that Sansa has liked in _years_ , the professor might sense her vulnerability and use his position of power over her.

 

“Wait,” Robb shakes his head slightly. “You’ve had this guy over to the house for dinner? Why?”

 

“Mr. Snow,” Catelyn reminds him of the name. “And yes, he’s been to our house for dinner twice now. The first time was to thank him for staying with your sister when she had one of her terrible headaches and I had to hurry to come and get her and the second was him bringing Sansa a quiz she had missed in class due to a doctor’s appointment.”

 

Robb can’t stop frowning though. He understands the first time. That’s just how his parents are when it comes to their children – whether they’re still technically children or not. If someone does something to help one of them, Ned and Catelyn will do something to thank them.

 

“Alright, the first time, I understand, but the second, why didn’t he just give her the quiz after a class?” Robb wonders, directing his frown towards his mother.

 

Catelyn is frowning right back at him. “I’ve already told you. This is the first man your sister has liked since Harry and your father and I want to get to know him. We don’t need your permission to have a dinner guest, Robert,” she says before turning and walking from the paint department, thus ending the conversation.

 

Robb can’t stop frowning though and he looks to Winnie. Surely she understands why this whole thing’s got him a _little_ – and rightfully – concerned.

 

But Winnie just gives him a small smile and a shrug. “Your parents think Mr. Snow might have a crush on Sansa in return and that’s the other reason they want to get to know him.”

 

Robb rears his head back as if she’s just slapped him. “ _That’s_ your way of making me feel better?!”

 

…

 

It’s an easy office to find. The community college campus isn’t massive, but even if it was, the staff directory on the wall outside the bank of elevators on the history department’s third floor is most helpful.

 

Robb swiftly locates _J. Snow_ on the board and his office number. Robb admits that he doesn’t have a plan. He can’t very well just walk into this stranger’s office and punch him square in the jaw. He hasn’t done anything – yet – to warrant such violence. His parents think Sansa has a crush on this man and they think Mr. Snow has one on her in return. They _think_. They don’t know for certain. So Robb is going to do his best to find out for certain one way or another what Mr. Snow’s feelings are towards Sansa.

 

It’s only the right thing to do. He’s Sansa’s older brother and such a role means that he must always look out for her whether she wants that from him or not. His other role is of a concerned citizen, making sure that there’s no funny business going on between teachers and students. He’s just doing what anyone else would do. And this is what Robb tells himself as he comes upon Mr. Snow’s office.

 

The door is open and Robb peaks a look inside. There is a man sitting at the desk, looking to his computer screen. He has black curly hair, a bit on the long side, with a full black beard and he’s wearing a plain black tee-shirt. He certainly seems to like black. His mom’s right. This Mr. Snow, history professor, doesn’t seem any older than him. That doesn’t make his feelings towards Sansa any more right though.

 

Robb lifts his fist and knocks on the door. Mr. Snow instantly looks to see who it is.

 

“Mr. Snow?”

 

“Yes?” The man looks at Robb and Robb knows that he’s probably trying to figure out what class Robb is in. There’s a look of familiarity across his face; as if he’s seen Robb before, but he can’t place exactly where.

 

“I’m Robb Stark, Sansa’s brother,” Robb steps into the office.

 

“Oh,” the man quickly gets to his feet. “It’s… it’s nice to meet you. Is everything alright with Sansa?”

 

He sounds genuinely concerned, Robb will give him that.

 

“Yes, everything’s fine. Mind if I sit?” Robb then glances to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

 

“No, of course not. Please.”

 

Only once Robb gets himself settled down Mr. Snow sit down again in his own chair. The man looks nervous, Robb notes. He likes that, he’s not going to lie. But _why_ does he looks nervous? Only those who have done something wrong or have something to hide should look nervous when meeting the brother of one of their students. Robb studies him for a moment in silence.

 

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Robb informs him, getting right to it.

 

Mr. Snow visibly swallows. “I’m sorry,” he then says and that’s not at all what Robb has expected him to say.

 

Robb hasn’t been expecting the man to say that right away; if at all. Why apologize if there’s nothing to apologize for? Has he already tried or done something with Sansa? Robb reminds himself to not punch this man until he’s heard what the professor and his sister have done that would warrant an apology.

 

“Sansa’s one of my best students in any of my classes and she seems to really love history like I do and I’ve offered my help with her Bethany Blackwood research if she needs it. I _know_ it’s inappropriate, but even when I try to keep distance between us, she’ll pop into my office to talk about class or her research and I…” he pauses and swallows. “I’m very sorry if I have disrespected her or your family. That’s the last thing I want to do to any of you.”

 

Robb admits that he has absolutely no idea what to say to any of that. This meeting isn’t going exactly the way he had thought it would. For one, the young guy sitting across from him isn’t the sick pervert Robb had walked in here, imagining him to be. He seems deeply ashamed for even talking with Sansa. Robb can’t imagine that this guy would try to do anything inappropriate with her. He might fling himself from his third-floor office window from guilt if he did.

 

“Your sister makes me feel like a cad,” Mr. Snow then says complete with self-loathing smirk to himself.

 

Robb’s anger and every word that had been poised on his tongue disappears as he looks to the man. His mom’s right. Mr. Snow and him look to be right around the same age and Sansa is only two years younger. It’s not like she’s sixteen and he’s her high school teacher. Sansa is twenty-two. She’s a young woman; an adult. And this is the first man she’s looked at since Harry. And seeing Mr. Snow now and how absolutely rung out he looks over Sansa, it’s obvious to Robb that absolutely _nothing_ has happened between them.

 

Robb clears his throat, now feeling a bit lost. He had come here, prepared to kill this man if need be, but instead, the man looks as if he wants to beat Robb to it and kill himself.

 

“I’m usually not this much of a prick,” Robb hears himself say. “It’s just, when it comes to Sansa, I’ve always been protective of her. Especially since… you’re the first guy she’s looked at since Harry and I wanted to come and size you up myself,” he admits. “Harry was her boyfriend. He died in the accident.”

 

Mr. Snow nods. “I read about it online. Did she…” he trails off as he tries to find the words. “She looks at me?” He then asks as if realizing what Robb has said.

 

Robb nearly smiles. Instead, he nods. “According to my mom, yes, and as my mom and wife both have told me, you won’t be Sansa’s teacher forever.”

 

The man’s ears turn noticeably pink at that. Again, Robb nearly smiles. This guy might be the same age as Robb, but he’s acting like a smitten schoolboy with his first crush. It honestly makes Robb like the man.

 

“I don’t know your name,” Robb then realizes.

 

“Jon,” Mr. Snow answers straight away. “It’s nice to meet you.” He then holds out his hand and Robb smiles, sitting forward in his chair so he can shake it with his own. “And I very much respect your sister and have absolutely no intentions on doing anything towards her.”

 

“Ever?” Robb lifts an eyebrow at that.

 

Jon pauses and then shakes his head. “I think even after the semester ends, it wouldn’t be appropriate. Other staff and students here, if Sansa and I were to begin a relationship, they might think that we had done something while she was in my class or she got certain high marks because of my feelings towards her. It’d be a lot of ridiculous gossip that I don’t want to subject either of us to.”

 

Robb can see Jon’s point, but it makes him frown nonetheless. “Well, I think that’s pretty stupid,” he tells Jon as if they’ve known each other for years rather than mere minutes. “You like her. She likes you. You’re both adults. Everyone else can sod off with their opinions.”

 

Jon blinks at him and then a slow smile spreads across his lips. “Weren’t you coming here with the purpose of punching me because I liked her?” Jon wonders.

 

“I never actually said that out loud,” Robb then points out and Jon lets out a laugh. “I _was_ going to punch you because I thought you had already done something or had figured out Sansa’s crush on you and had used it to your advantage.”

 

Jon is quiet, looking down to the papers on his desk. “I would never even think of doing that to her.” He pauses. “She really has a crush on me?” He asks quietly.

 

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her around you. But my mom seems to think you _both_ have crushes. Hence, the me coming down here and wanting to punch you in the face.”

 

Jon’s lips twitch into a smile and he moves his eyes to his computer screen before back to Robb. “I was going to order some lunch. Would you like to join me?”

 

“Sure,” Robb readily agrees, sitting up a bit in his chair. “What’d you have in mind?”

 

Jon opens his top desk drawer. “My best mate, Grenn, he owns a place.”

 

Jon hands Robb a yellow paper take-out menu and Robb looks it over. Not that there’s much to look over. The place is simply called _Grenn’s Fish Takeaway_. #1 is fried cod with chips, #2 is fried walleye with chips and #3 is friend haddock with chips and that’s the whole menu. Jon has already picked up the phone to order and Robb holds up one finger, placing the menu back on the desk. Jon nods and speaks into the phone, placing their lunch order for delivery. Jon gets the #1 as well.

 

“Thanks, Maddie,” Jon smiles into the phone. “Yeah. I’m in my office.”

 

Robb wonders how the hell this has come about. He came here with every intention of threatening this man with a bit of good old-fashioned violence, but now, he’s getting fish takeaway with the man for lunch. Jon Snow doesn’t seem like a bad guy. Actually, he seems quite the opposite as well as entirely _too_ honorable where he won’t even pursue Sansa after she is done being his student, not caring if they both like one another or not. And they do. Robb still has to see them together to know for certain, but if his parents are seeing it, they wouldn’t just create something out of thin air.

 

As Jon continues to speak with whoever Maddie is on the phone, Robb pulls out his cell phone and pulls up the last text conversation he had with Sansa. He wonders how casually he can be when he asks if she’s on campus right now and if she is, he wonders what he can say _casually_ that will get her into Mr. Snow’s office.

 

…

 

Sansa is in the library, having procured herself a table all to herself, with her textbooks with her as she begins the arduous task of studying for her finals that begin the next week. Most of her classes have been classes she has simply taken, trying to decide if she likes them enough to continue onto the next course. Honestly though, her favorite course is history and she fully intends to take more history classes next semester.

 

It’s strange and yet, how things have gone for her in the past four years, not that strange at all. She had never been fond of history before. Her dad and Robb were the history buffs; never her. She didn’t hate it, but she had never been absolutely mad for it either.

 

But then, she was in a horrible car crash and so much of who she used to be had changed; either that be a slight change or a complete 180 of who she used to be. She used to absolutely be a fanatic for sushi, always wanting it when her family talked about going out to a restaurant or getting carryout. Now, she honestly can’t look at sushi without wrinkling her nose, her brain telling her she never wants to eat it again. And she used to not think twice about history – always just doing the readings so she could pass the tests in school – but now, she can’t read enough about history and is even now researching to write her own history book.

 

Arya calls it her new personality. Whenever Sansa and the family stumble upon a new change in Sansa in regards to her likes and dislikes, Arya will just shrug and say “It’s Sansa’s new personality” and that really is the easiest explanation for it. Sansa doesn’t think on it much. So much had changed the night of the crash; why wouldn’t things that make her _her_ change as well?

 

Her phone is resting on the table and she hears it buzz softly. Glancing to the screen, she sees that it’s a text from Robb.

 

**_R: Hey. Where are you?_ **

****

**_S: I’m in the library at college, studying._ **

****

**_R: Great! I’ve always wanted to see the library!_ **

****

Sansa frowns, reading her brother’s text.

 

**_S: What the hell are you talking about?_ **

****

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading and for those taking time to leave comments! I really love writing this story and am excited for what I have planned and good luck to Jon if he thinks he can stay strong even after the course is finished!


	9. Impossible to Ignore

…

 

**Nine.** Impossible to Ignore.

Robb’s text message is strange – _beyond_ strange – and Sansa begins packing her things up and putting her various notebooks away into her messenger bag. Does Robb mean that he’s going to be coming here, to the community college? Does he even know where the library is? She doesn’t want her brother wandering around aimlessly. She’ll find him and then ask him, to his face, what the hell he is talking about.

 

She slings her messenger bag on – the strap across her chest – and she holds her extra textbooks in her arms. After checking the table, making sure that she’s left nothing behind, she begins heading towards the front entrance. But just as she heads towards the door, she stops dead in her tracks when one of the doors open and her brother walks in.

 

Followed by Mr. Snow.

 

She looks at her brother and her history professor and has no idea what they’re doing together. They don’t even know one another and all of a sudden, they’re here, _together_ , in the library.

 

Mr. Snow sees her first and he stops walking as well at the sight of her. She looks to him and feels her stomach flip at just the sight of the man. In a way, she almost hates how handsome her history teacher is. It also almost scares her. She loved Harry – _loves_ Harry, still, as much as a girl can love a boy who’s not here anymore – but Harry had been a boy and Mr. Snow… well, he’s the first _man_ she has looked at and it scares her. She’s a young woman, but whenever she looks at Mr. Snow, she can’t help, but feel so incredibly young.

 

And after looking at her for a moment – as if telling himself that yes, he really sees her – Mr. Snow gives her the smallest smile; a smile that makes her stomach flip again. Sansa gives him a small smile in return as she takes steps towards them both.

 

Robb grins. “Done studying?” He asks her as casually as can be; as if him showing up randomly in the college library is something he does every other day.

 

“I am,” Sansa nods, looking to Mr. Snow before looking to Robb. “I’ve reached that point where if I study anymore, I won’t be able to retain any of it.”

 

From the corner of her eye, she can see Mr. Snow smile at that.

 

The man’s smile does something to her she hasn’t felt in so long. It makes the center of her chest feel warm. His smiles are always small – twitches of his lips really, but the genuineness of those twitches always reaches his eyes and softens them – and Sansa finds herself wondering (more than she really should) how Mr. Snow looks when he gives a full-on grin. If he’s this handsome now, Sansa knows a grin from Mr. Snow might just very well actually destroy her for any other man later in life.

 

“Actually, before your texts, I was going to call mom to see if she or dad could pick me up, but now that you’re here…” she trails off.

 

Robb is already nodding, not needing her to finish. “I’ll get you home.”

 

Sansa wants to ask her brother more questions – mainly, how the hell does he know Mr. Snow – but now and here is neither the time nor place for those questions. She looks back to Mr. Snow and gives him a small smile before walking past them both, heading towards the main doors.

 

Mr. Snow steps ahead of her, reaching the door first, and this time, the warmth in her chest spreads out to every inch of her body as he pushes the door open and then holds it open for her. He is looking at her and she gives him a small, shy smile as she passes by, murmuring a “thank you”, Mr. Snow’s lips twitching at her.

 

Sansa wonders what she would have to do to get him to give a full smile.

 

That’s certainly an inappropriate thought to be having towards one’s teacher, Sansa knows, but she can’t help, but wonder. She knows Mr. Snow would look far more handsome than he already down if his face was split with a smile. And then to add further to such an inappropriate thought, Sansa imagines herself being the one to make him smile like that.

 

Once outside the library, Sansa turns back to her brother, her mouth opening to ask if he’s ready to go.

 

Robb speaks, however, before Sansa can. “Jon and I were eating lunch and I was telling him about the weekend trip we have planned to Cairns after your finals.”

 

She knows Mr. Snow’s name is Jon, but it still takes her half a second for her to realize that Robb is referring to Mr. Snow in this instance; speaking of the man as if they’re best friends.

 

“I was telling him that he should come with us,” Robb tells her with a grin.

 

There’s something about her brother’s grin right now that makes her think that he’s up to something, but she’ll focus on that later, she promises herself. Right now, she focuses on her brother’s words and she looks to her history professor with an excitement in her eyes that she can’t mask from him.

 

“Are you going to be coming to Cairns with us?” She asks him, unapologetically eager at the prospect.

 

Mr. Snow visibly pauses and he glances to Robb before he settles his eyes on Sansa. “I…” the tip of his tongue darts out to lick his lips. “I think it would be best if I didn’t.”

 

“Oh.” The deflation she feels in her chest at his answer is instant.

 

“I would very much like to go,” Mr. Snow rushes out. “I imagine you’ll find all sorts of things to help you with your book research and I would love to help… I just don’t know how appropriate it would be for me to go.”

 

“I understand, Mr. Snow,” Sansa tells him with her best smile – no matter how small the smile might be and no matter how much she doesn’t mean it right then.

 

But she doesn’t understand. Not really. She, Robb and Winnie won’t be driving to the village of Cairns until after Sansa’s finals. Mr. Snow isn’t going to be her teacher any longer in just a couple more weeks. Why would spending time together – no longer as teacher and student – be inappropriate? And _who_ would find out and think to label it as such in the first place?

 

Sansa looks to Robb, feeling Mr. Snow’s eyes on her, but she doesn’t look to him again. “Ready to go?” She asks in a false-cheerful tone.

 

After both saying goodbye to Mr. Snow, Robb shaking his hand and telling him he’d talk to him later, Robb and Sansa begin walking down the sidewalk towards the parking lot.

 

“Since when do you know Mr. Snow?” Sansa is finally to ask now that it’s just the two of them. She swears she can still feel Mr. Snow’s eyes on her, watching her as she walks away, but Sansa won’t look back over her shoulder to confirm it.

 

“Since this afternoon,” Robb answers simply even though his answer gives Sansa at least a dozen more questions. Before she can even ask one though, Robb continues. “You like him,” he then states.

 

Sansa’s first instinct is to deny. Deny, deny, deny.

 

But she doesn’t. Maybe she knows there’s no point in denying her feelings towards Mr. Snow. Robb obviously already knows about them if he’s just called her out. Has she been obvious? Does Mr. Snow know about her growing feelings towards him? Is that why the idea of going to Cairns with her such an untasteful one to the man? Sansa doesn’t know anything about the man. He doesn’t wear a ring, but that doesn’t always mean anything. She doesn’t know if he has a wife or a girlfriend. He probably is trying to keep distance between them without wanting to come right out and embarrass her.

 

Sansa feels her face flush. Does she have a crush on a very unavailable man who is just too kind to tell her and mortify her horribly?

 

She thinks of that moment in her bedroom. It had been a soon-to-be wildly inappropriate moment between a teacher and his student, but it _had_ been a moment. Why had the possibility of Mr. Snow not just being her teacher, but also married or in a relationship and therefore, unavailable to anyone else not cross her mind?

 

“I do,” Sansa replies to her brother. “I… I do,” she says again, softer now.

 

Robb looks over to her. “It’s okay if you do, Sansa.”

 

Sansa shakes her head at that. “It’s not, Robb. We both know it’s not. He’s my teacher.”

 

“He won’t be your teacher forever,” Robb shrugs at that.

 

Sansa just shakes her head again and hugs her books a bit tighter to her chest. She feels a hollowness in her chest that she doesn’t want to focus on, but the intense feeling is not something she’s able to fully ignore.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, her voice still quiet. “I think Harry… he was it for me, you know? The only shot at love for me in this life and now that he’s gone…”

 

She can feel Robb looking at her; frowning at her.

 

“That’s not true, Sansa,” Robb tells her. “And there’s no way you believe that.”

 

No, Sansa doesn’t believe that. She had loved Harry and he had loved her, but she doesn’t think that Harry was the great love of her life. She does want another love story for herself. A true, lasting love story.

 

A love story with an available man who can stand to spend some time with her.

 

…

 

Grenn is ribbing Sam over something; Jon admits that he’s not paying attention. He stares at the Heineken bottle between his hands, not paying attention to anything.

 

He can’t go to Cairns with Sansa and her brother and sister-in-law. He just can’t. Even after the semester is finished and Sansa is officially no longer his student, he can’t go anywhere with her; especially a weekend away trip. What if someone finds out? What if they see Mr. Snow with his former student and start to make assumptions about them that are nowhere near the truth? What if they look at Sansa’s high marks in his class and think that she had gotten them in a special way other than studying and attending class?

 

He can’t go to Cairns _for_ Sansa. He saw the hurt look in her eyes when he told her that it would be best if he didn’t go. She had quickly tried to wipe it away, but Jon had seen it all the same and he hated that he couldn’t go. He finds that he wants to go to Cairns with Sansa quite badly. Not just for the history and the research – though that is a big incentive – but because it would be a chance to get to know Sansa outside of a classroom setting or away from a kitchen table without her parents there as well.

 

“Would you just-” Sam starts to frown at Grenn, who is grinning so widely, he’s practically laughing.

 

“I need to talk to you guys about something,” Jon jumps in. “I need some advice. _Good_ advice.”

 

And there must be something in his tone because both Grenn and Sam immediately shut it and look to Jon.

 

“What is it?” Sam is the one to ask, already looking concerned.  

 

“Do we need another round, do you think?” Grenn asks while already lifting his hand to signal the waitress.

 

Jon doesn’t know where to begin, but then he figures the beginning is always a good place to start.

 

And it all comes out – the first day of class when he saw Sansa for the first time, her visiting during office hours, dinner at her home (twice), discussing history with her and a possible book, the trip to Cairns. He tells them almost everything – he leaves her car accident out of it, Grenn and Sam not needing to know that – but everything else, he tells them. Including his growing feelings for her.

 

“And she’s how old?” Grenn asks.

 

“Twenty-two,” Jon answers and then chugs the rest from his beer bottle, finishing it up and setting it aside before taking the fresh Heineken the waitress has brought.

 

“Well, that’s not bad at all,” Sam says and is sure to thrown in a smile for good measure.

 

“If you like her, and she seems to like you, and she’s not going to be in your class anymore, and she’s _legal_ , I’m not seeing what the issue is,” Grenn says.

 

“The issue is…” Jon looks to both his best mates. “The issue is it’s _wrong_. I started having feelings for her when she was still my student.”

 

“Yeah, but no one knows that,” Grenn replies to that.

 

“And it’s not like you’ve done anything with her while you are still the teacher and she the student,” Sam adds. “After the final exam and you get it graded, you’ll just be a man and she’ll be a woman. Is there some rule for the college that you’re _never_ allowed to pursue a former student?”

 

Jon takes a longer swig of beer. “No, there’s not some rule. I know one of the math professors wound up marrying a guy she taught.”

 

“Well, there you go,” Grenn breaks into a grin, leaning back in his seat and taking his own swig from his beer as if that takes care of everything.

 

Jon shakes his head and he looks to Sam. Sam though gives him a small smile and a slight shrug.

 

“If you want, Grenn and I will come along with you to Cairns,” Sam offers.

 

“Yeah?” Jon looks to him and then to Grenn, who gives a nod while sipping his beer. He looks back to Sam.

 

“It’s not a big deal, Jon,” Sam tells him. “We can just say it’s a guys’ trip to Cairns and if it happens to be the same weekend that Sansa is there… well, that’s a nice coincidence, isn’t it?”

 

Jon smiles a little at that and looks down to the beer bottle between his hands. “Thanks, guys.”

 

Grenn leans forward in his chair again and grasps a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Anything to get you laid.”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those sticking with this slooowww story. And I know this chapter seemed like a filler, but now, bring on the research trip to Cairns!


	10. Wonderful Pain

…

 

**Ten.** Wonderful Pain.

Sansa sits on the couch with Rickon in the family room, her laptop with her as she half watches a movie while looking over her semester’s final grades posted online.

 

“I got a ‘B-’ in Biology,” she frowns.

 

Rickon snorts at that and grabs another fist of popcorn from the bowl, his eyes never leaving the television screen. “You’re not special, Sansa. I’m getting a ‘D’ in Biology right now.”

 

Sansa knows she shouldn’t – it really just encourages him – but she can’t help, but smile. From the corner of his eye, Rickon can see it and he gives a grin. “I wasn’t thinking about anymore science classes though so I guess it’s not the _worst_ thing. I got ‘A’s in History and English and those were the two I really cared about.”

 

“Well, considering you want to write a history book, I guess those are the only two classes you should care about. Oh!” Rickon exclaims with glee and Sansa looks to the screen just in time to see the masked killer’s machete stab right through a victim’s chest. With a wince, she quickly looks down to her computer screen.

 

At least that hasn’t changed. She had always hated horror movies and she still does, but tonight, it had been Rickon’s choice and with her pick, he had sat through _Seven Brides for Seven Brothers_ without _that_ much grumbling so Sansa figures she can survive Jason Voorhees for a couple of hours.

 

“Do you think I can do this?” Sansa asks in a voice almost too quiet to be heard over the movie.

 

She knows it shouldn’t matter, but of course, it does. She wants to know what her family truly thinks about her attempts at doing this; at writing a book. It’s so out of left-field; not at all something the old Sansa had ever expressed any interest in even thinking about. She wants to know that her family supports this “new” part of Sansa just like they’ve accepted and supported all of the other new parts. After everything she’s been through, her family has become the most important thing to her and she doesn’t want them to think she’s wasting her time or something or pursuing something she shouldn’t.

 

Her family’s approval means nearly everything to her above anything else.

 

But Rickon hears and he grabs another fist of popcorn while turning his head towards her. “We were watching this video in Driver’s Ed the other day. Some guy had fallen asleep at the wheel for just a minute, but he crashed into a tree. You know what happened to him?”

 

Sansa swallows thickly and shakes her head.

 

“He died. From hitting a tree. I heard that and then I thought of you. And what _you_ survived, it’s obvious the Gods aren’t done with you yet.” Rickon shrugs and looks back to the movie. “Maybe it’s to write this book.”

 

Sansa stares at her youngest brother even though Rickon’s attention is back onto the horror movie, he letting out a “Yeah, buddy!” when Jason pops up again even though Rickon has seen this movie far too many times and knows exactly what is going to happen next. It’s clear that he’s done with this conversation; Rickon probably not even considering this a conversation in the first place. That’s the way Rickon is though. He says whatever’s on his mind and then he’s done.

 

Sansa, though, feels her heart lodged in her throat and her eyes wet as if she’s going to start crying. It might seem entirely casual to Rickon. It might not seem that much to him what he’s said – and it’s clear Rickon doesn’t understand the impact of what he has just said or even knows – but Sansa _knows_.

 

Without a word, she moves her laptop aside and with a sniffle, she leans over and hugs Rickon, her arms tight around his neck. If Rickon wonders why in the Seven Hells Sansa is hugging him, on the verge of crying, he doesn’t ask. He just pats her arm and eats more popcorn.

 

…

 

_“… Sansa…”_

The name reaches her through a fog and then a gentle hand is shaking her.

 

Sansa’s eyes flutter open and she blinks a couple of times. Her head is resting against the window and Robb has parked the car right under a streetlight, the yellow lamp shining down right into her eye. It had been raining as they drew nearer to the Riverlands, but it has stopped now, drops still clinging to the window glass. Sansa turns her head and Winnie is turned in the front passenger seat towards the back, smiling at her.

 

“You hungry?” Winnie asks.

 

It takes Sansa a moment to think of the answer and as if knowing, her stomach lets out a quiet growl.

 

“Starving,” Sansa confirms and Winnie laughs.

 

Out of the car, Sansa takes a moment to stretch, grunting as she reaches her arms over her head. Before leaving the Stark driveway that morning, Catelyn had pushed a pill into Sansa’s hand.

 

“Just in case,” her mother had smiled before bringing Sansa in for a long hug.

 

Sansa hadn’t thought she would take the valium. Yes, it was going to be a road trip and she just doesn’t go on long car rides anymore, but surely, she could make it to the Riverlands without medicating herself. But then the rain had started and Sansa had taken it without even pausing.

 

It’s a cold night and Sansa pulls her gloves from her coat pockets, tugging them on as she looks around. It’s quiet, too. Robb has pulled in front of a tavern called The Trout’s Head, the sign swinging in the slight wind, a carving of a fish leaping over the letters. Next door, there is another sign in front of a three-story building, one connected to the tavern – The Trout’s Inn. Sansa had made reservations for two rooms there for this weekend the week before when finalizing itinerary for this trip. It’s the only inn in town.

 

Cairns certainly isn’t a bustling metropolis. It’s an old village – centuries old – and is also one of the smallest in this particular part of Westeros.

 

Sansa wonders where the cemetery is from here.

 

She takes a deep breath of the air and closes her eyes. Cold and crisp and it stings her lungs, but it feels good all the same. She wonders what she’ll find here. She hopes she finds exactly what she’s looking for. But she doesn’t even know exactly what that is. Bethany Blackwood lived centuries ago. Sansa has no idea if there will be _anything_ to find, but she still has to come here and find that out for herself.

 

Standing here, in Cairns, breathing in the air and hearing the gentle rushing water of the nearby stream, Sansa can already feel something though. She’s here, where Bethany Blackwood had been hundreds of years earlier. Maybe the young woman had stood in the exact same spot Sansa stands in right now.

 

“Ready to go in?” Winnie asks, breaking through Sansa’s thoughts.

 

Sansa turns towards her and nods with a smile. She really is famished.

 

Robb had already gone into the tavern to use the bathroom and to get them a table. The Trout’s Head is like any other old tavern in the North. The ceiling is low as is the lighting, with candles on the tables and fires roaring in the two hearths on either side of the room, the woods are all dark and most of the tables are filled with, despite the cold night, Sansa assumes, the locals.

 

Winnie and Sansa spot Robb sitting at a table near the back, next to one of the fireplaces, and he’s not alone.

 

When Sansa sees who her brother is sitting with, she stops dead in her tracks. And a second later, when Winnie sees as well, she stops, too.

 

“What the hell?” Winnie asks out loud, but Sansa can’t say anything. She can only stare.

 

Mr. Snow… Can she call him Jon now that the semester is over? Is that why he’s here? Because the semester is over? Well, no, that explanation doesn’t make any sense. Even if the semester would be over, why would Mr. Snow, Jon, whoever, be _here_ in Cairns the same weekend they are? He had told her he wouldn’t come. It would be inappropriate so now he’s here? And Robb is sitting with him?

 

“Winnie! Sansa!” Robb spots them and holds up his hand, beckoning them to come.

 

“Let’s hear him out first before we kill him,” Winnie suggests in a low voice and Sansa manages a smile before she’s able to move her feet towards where her brother, Mr. Snow and two other men she doesn’t know are sitting, able to keep the smile on her face though it shrinks a bit in size.

 

She doesn’t want to be _too_ rude.

 

“Look who decided to come after all,” Robb gives a grin as Mr. Snow stands. “Jon, this is my wife, Winnie. Winnie, this is Jon Snow. He was Sansa’s history professor this past semester and he’s here to help us with this research weekend.” Robb’s smile doesn’t leave his face as he makes introductions.

 

“Nice to meet you,” Winnie smiles kindly at him.

 

“Hello,” Jon greets Winnie and Sansa both with a head nod and small smile and then his eyes stay on Sansa.

 

She knows it’s the dark lighting of the tavern, but Sansa swears as Mr. Snow looks at her, his eyes are black and even with the warmth from the fire, she finds herself feeling a shivering waking down her spine. She must still be feeling the cold from outside.

 

“Um,” Jon clears his throat when she still hasn’t said anything. He turns back towards the table. “These are my best mates. Sam Tarly and Grenn Stanley. This is Sansa Stark.”

 

“Nice to finally meet you,” the roundest of the three smiles at her and Sansa immediately notes that he has both kind eyes and a kind smile.

 

The tallest of them all and muscularly built with ginger hair and a thick beard adds, “Hope you don’t mind us crashing your weekend,” he says with a smile directed towards Sansa.

 

“Is that what you’re doing?” Sansa finally speaks, looking back to Jon – Mr. Snow or whatever she should call him now. It’s very warm in here and she’s very hungry and the valium is wearing off and the last thing she wants to be right now is confused; or ambushed.

 

Jon looks to her and pauses for a moment before giving her a single head nod. “May I speak with you?” He asks her and it is Sansa’s turn to give him a single head nod.

 

She can feel four sets of eyes from those at their table on her and Jon as they walk back towards the bar, away from overhearing ears.

 

“Hi, loves,” an older woman with spiral-curly black hair asks them from behind the bar, having come up after passing a couple of beers to one of the waitresses. “Anything to drink for you?”

 

“Just a ginger ale for me,” Sansa smiles softly in return.

 

“One for me as well,” Jon answers.

 

Sansa looks to the man standing with her, both facing one another, their sides against the bar. He is wearing dark jeans and a black tee-shirt along with a dark gray zipped hooded sweatshirt. His hair is pulled back from his face and somehow – if possible – in the low lights of the tavern, he looks even more beautiful to Sansa than the other times she has stood close enough to him to _really_ see him.

 

Her stomach tightens almost painfully and she wonders if part of the reason he looks as he does now is because he’s no longer her professor and she’s a young woman and he’s a young man and there’s nothing wrong now with finding him ridiculously attractive.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jon then says and he says it so quickly, it takes Sansa’s mind a moment to register it. “I… my friends and I had this whole elaborate story as to why we’re in Cairns the same weekend that you are, but I can’t lie to you.” He shakes his head at that.

 

Sansa feels her heart stutter at that. Not that she ever thought Jon, Mr. Snow, _would_ lie to her, it’s a nice confirmation to hear, all the same.

 

“The truth is, the instant you told me about your research trip to Cairns, I wanted to join you,” Jon says.

 

Sansa looks at him, her head tilted slightly. “Why didn’t you just say that?” She wonders.

 

The woman appears with their ginger ales, setting the glasses down onto white napkins before walking away again. Neither Jon or Sansa look away from one another.

 

“As your professor, I didn’t want it to be looked at as inappropriate. By you or by anyone,” he adds.

 

Sansa picks up her glass and takes a sip of ginger ale through the small black straw. “What was the elaborate story you and your friends had thought up as to why you would be here?” She asks, a smile already beginning to break through when she sees his cheeks turn pink.

 

With him as her professor, it was easy to forget that Jon, Mr. Snow, isn’t actually that much older than her.

 

Jon chuckles. “Grenn owns his own little fish-and-chips place. Our brilliant plan was to say that we came to Cairns for our own research trip and see how others make their own fish-and-chips.”

 

Sansa lets out a laugh before she can stop herself. “That is rather creative… I suppose.”

 

“We’re idiots,” he replies with a shake of his head and then smiles when she laughs again. But as he looks at her, his smile fades. “Is it alright I’m here? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

 

“I can’t imagine you ever making me uncomfortable,” Sansa says before she can stop herself, but once the words have left her mouth, she finds that she doesn’t want to take them back. He’s staring at her with his near-black eyes and she decides to take it one step further. What he does with that step is up to him, she supposes. “I’m glad you’re here, Mr. Snow.”

 

“Jon,” he instantly corrects her.

 

“Jon,” she says his name, almost in a whisper, with warm cheeks.

 

The pain in her stomach seems to only intensify as they continue looking at one another, but Sansa knows that this is the best kind of pain. It’s been a very long time, but she remembers this pain. She used to get it while around Harry, but nothing this extreme; nothing this…

 

Wonderful. Just absolutely wonderful.

 

“Did Robb know you were going to be here?” Sansa asks him.

 

“No,” Jon shakes his head. “He didn’t seem that surprised though when he walked in and saw us. I wonder _why_ he wasn’t surprised. I never told him I was coming.”

 

Sansa wonders that, too, but she won’t dwell on it for the moment. “And how did you know to be at The Trout’s Head?”

 

Jon opens his mouth to answer, but then pauses. He visibly swallows before speaking. “Robb.”

 

Sansa wants to roll her eyes, but can’t quite find it in herself to.  

 

“He _casually_ mentioned it a couple of days ago,” he further says.

 

More wonderful pain, she notes from her stomach.

 

“I’m sure my friends want to interrogate you,” Jon then says. “They’ve been curious about you and annoying me with giving them every single detail.”

 

“I didn’t know we had details,” Sansa can’t help, but say.

 

Jon picks up his glass of ginger ale, but doesn’t take a sip. “Maybe not yet, we don’t,” he speaks and stares directly into her eyes. “I’m-” he stops himself abruptly and then takes the smallest step towards her. “Is it alright I’m here, Sansa?” He asks her again, this time, his voice so low, she wants to shiver again and she knows it’s not at all because of the cold from outside.

 

Sansa looks into his eyes as his stare into hers and she tries to think what a heroine in a movie would say right now. Something witty and perhaps suggestive. But nothing comes to Sansa’s mind except one thing.

 

“It’s alright you’re here, Jon.”

 

And from the relief she can see cross his face and from the soft sigh he exhales, Sansa knows that she said the absolutely right thing.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few days without writing this one and I have missed it so much. And the next chapter, Jon and Sansa, one-on-one time (finally!) as they walk around Cairns together. Thank you so much for reading and sticking with me on this one!


	11. A Blank Space

…

 

**Eleven.** A Blank Space.

“All. You. Can. Eat,” Grenn emphasizes each word before stabbing another piece of French toast and shoving it into his mouth. “Gods, how can they possibly make any profit from this kind of breakfast spread?”

 

“They probably weren’t counting on you this weekend,” Sam jokes.

 

“Their mistake then,” Grenn replies with his mouth full.

 

Jon isn’t paying attention to either of them, he’ll be honest. They sit at one of the tables in the cozy dining room in the Trout’s Inn – the only guests down there at the moment – and the breakfast buffet has been laid out on the long table against the back wall. Grenn’s right. It’s a hell of a spread, but Jon has had problems finishing up his first plate of fried eggs and sausage rounds.

 

It’s raining outside. Not some torrential downpour or a shaking thunderstorm; a light mist really, but the clouds are thick and grey and Jon can’t help, but worry about Sansa’s head this morning with this weather. He has seen, firsthand, what this kind of weather does to her and he hopes that she’s alright and her weekend plans in Cairns won’t be ruined.

 

The night before, after speaking at the bar, they took their ginger ales and joined his friends and her brother and sister-in-law back at the table where pints were ordered – Jon noted that Sansa didn’t order a pint so he didn’t either, happy to stick with ginger ale – and they all ordered baskets of fish-and-chips. Grenn, of course, had proudly boasted that his were _marginally_ better and that had led to them all to talk about jobs – well, Grenn, Sam, Robb and Winnie had talked about their jobs, Robb and Sam having them all laughing with stories from Robb’s office and Sam’s hospital.

 

Jon and Sansa sat across from one another, smiling to whatever their friends and family were saying, but then their baskets of fish-and-chips, served with the authentic newspaper arrived, and their eyes met from across the table.

 

“Can I show you something?” Sansa asked.

 

“Please,” was his instant answer and it made her smile.

 

Her messenger bag had been placed under her seat and she pulled it out, looking through it for a moment before pulling out a pamphlet. “I thought we could go here tomorrow,” she said as she extended it towards him and Jon was sure to wipe his fingers on his napkin before taking it.

 

_House Blackwood Historical Museum_

It wasn’t some massive museum – not like the museums King’s Landing, White Harbor and Winterfell all boasted of having. It looked like an old, two story brick building; a house, really, but as Jon looked through the pamphlet, he could see that, no matter how small, it was full of all kinds of things from House Blackwood, spanning hundreds of years, from the look of things.

 

“I was thinking we could go there tomorrow and the Blackwood family cemetery,” Sansa suggested.

 

Jon looked up from the pamphlet to meet her eyes as she watched him from across the table. He admitted that he wasn’t even aware of Grenn and Sam, Robb and Winnie. He wasn’t even aware of anyone else in the tavern, to be honest. All he saw was Sansa, sitting across from him, the fire casting onto her red hair, making it look like melting copper. She was beautiful in a way that scared him, but not only that, she was brilliant in a quiet manner that led Jon to believe that even she didn’t know how brilliant she actually was. And Jon looked at her and couldn’t wait to find all of that for himself and show her in the process.

 

“I can’t wait,” he had smiled and Sansa had broken out into a smile; one that almost looked as one of relief; as if she was truly wondering – and worried – of his opinion of her plans in Cairns.

 

“Jon, are you going to eat that?” Grenn asks, his fork already moving across the table towards his plate.

 

“There’s loads more up there,” Sam frowns at him even as Jon pushes the plate towards him and Grenn stabs one of the sausage rounds, bringing it to his own plate.

 

“But _these_ are going to waste if Jon’s not going to eat them,” Grenn replies.

 

Jon is watching the entry of the dining room and the instant Sansa steps in, Jon practically springs to his feet. He hears Grenn snort with laughter, but Jon ignores him. Sansa’s eyes land right on him and when she smiles, Jon lets out a breath and smiles, too. She crosses the room to come to their table.

 

“Good morning,” she greets them all with the smile still across her face.

 

“Good morning,” Sam smiles.

 

“Morning, Sansa,” Grenn says, pausing in his breakfast long enough to get the words out before he’s helping himself to Jon’s second uneaten sausage round from his plate.

 

“I was worried… because of the rain,” Jon says and Sansa’s eyes move back to him, her face soft at his words.  

 

“I’m alright. I took an ibuprofen and… honestly, I think I’m too excited to let my head bother me today,” she replies and Jon breaks into a wider smile, relieved. “Robb is still sleeping from the drive yesterday and Winnie is, too. She absolutely loves sleeping in.”

 

“Would Winnie mind talking to my girlfriend?” Grenn speaks up. “Maddie wakes up every morning so we’re out of the flat and jogging by six-thirty. Even on Sunday! You know, the big day of rest?”

 

Sansa laughs at that and looks to Jon. “They said we are more than welcome to walk around a cemetery without them and then to just grab them before heading to the museum.”

 

“Sounds good,” Jon gives a nod. “Would you like some breakfast before we go? The inn has quite a spread.”

 

“Even Grenn hasn’t managed to eat it all yet,” Sam jokes with a grin.

 

“I _love_ breakfast. How many plates have you had, Grenn?” Sansa asks. “I need to know how many to beat.”

 

“It’s not how many plates, Sansa. It’s how much you put _on_ the plates,” Grenn says before giving her a wink.

 

Jon’s smile widens. She’s joking with his friends.

 

And his friends are joking with her back.

 

Is that a stupid thing to be happy over? Because that’s exactly how he’s feeling right now. Happy. 

 

Sansa laughs at that and then heads towards the buffet table. Jon glances down to his two friends and at the same time, both Sam and Grenn jerk their heads to the side for Jon to go on after her. Jon doesn’t hesitate. He takes his plate – now with just two cold uneaten fried eggs and no sausage rounds, thanks to Grenn – and goes to the buffet table as well.

 

“My goodness, how many guests are here this weekend?” Sansa asks quietly once Jon’s at her side.

 

“I heard that there’s some art festival in the next village and I think there might be some people staying here for that. Or… they expect us to _really_ be hungry people,” Jon answers, smiling as he gets Sansa to laugh.

 

Now that she’s down here and doesn’t seem to have an awful headache, Jon can feel how hungry he is and this time, he is able to fill up his plate, knowing that he will be eating now.

 

“Be honest,” Sansa turns towards him, holding up her plate with both hands. “Is this enough to beat Grenn?”

 

Jon looks down to see her stack of pancakes along with both bacon and sausage rounds. He breaks into a grin. “Whether or not that beats Grenn, that’s still damn impressive,” Jon says with a smile and Sansa smiles, too, almost laughing.

 

And it is. Sansa is a skinny thing – and Jon really doesn’t notice things like that about people, but he notices it with her because he notices _everything_ about her – but seeing her with a plate piled with breakfast food, it does something to the pit of his stomach; like he’s already gone up the first mountain of a roller coaster and he’s speeding his way back down.

 

…

 

Going to a cemetery to look at crumbling headstones really isn’t Sam or Grenn’s kind of thing either so Jon and Sansa are the only ones to leave the inn after they’re both stuffed on their breakfasts.

 

The light mist is still falling and Sansa is wearing a red rain slicker, she flipping the hood over her head as soon as they step outside. She had stopped to ask the desk clerk for the direction of the Blackwood cemetery so when Sansa begins heading up the lane, Jon falls into step at her side, flipping up his own hood.

 

“Great research weather,” Jon comments. Of course, he’d walk in a foot of snow with Sansa if it meant being here, with her, now, helping her with _anything_.  

 

“It is,” Sansa says with a smile and she does a small jump over a puddle in front of her. “Imagine Bethany Blackwood walking down this same lane in the same weather.”

 

“May I ask you something?” He glances to her and Sansa turns her head to look at him, silently telling him that he may. “Why Bethany Blackwood? Of all of the women in history who never got their story told, why her?” He’s been wondering this for some time now and now, being here in Cairns, it seems like, finally, a good time to ask.

 

Sansa is quiet for a moment. “I was eighteen when I was in that car trash. And I was eighteen when I almost died. The doctors told my parents… I _should_ have died. Like Harry died. But I didn’t. For whatever reason… Bethany Blackwood was eighteen, almost nineteen, when she died. She might not have seemed important in a history point of view, but she was important to her family. I…” she trails off for a moment. “I know I’m not making any sense-”

 

“You are,” Jon is swift to cut her off and turning, he faces her.

 

Stopping, Sansa turns to face him, too. Her hair is pulled into braided pigtails that day and the wind has still managed to blow a strand free. Jon’s fingers itch to lift to her face and brush that strand behind her ear for her and have his fingers touch her skin.

 

Instead, he balls his hands into fists in his rain coat pockets.

 

“I just think about that night. Even when I tell myself to forget it, or at least to move on, I know I’ll never be able to,” Sansa continues. “And… and if I _had_ died like I was supposed to… would someone remember me?”

 

Her voice grows soft at that, strained, and Jon swallows.

 

“You weren’t supposed to die that night, Sansa,” Jon tells her, his voice soft, too, but strong. “And I’m glad I know you. You’re important and I’m glad I know you.” He shakes his head slightly. “I don’t know if it’s appropriate for me to say that, but it’s true.”

 

Sansa takes a step closer to him, space still between them, but it’s smaller now. Jon is _very_ aware of the space between them being smaller.

 

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Sansa quietly informs him. “Thank you for thinking it.”

 

Swallowing again, Jon pulls his hand from his pocket and slowly – so not to startle her – he lightly brushes the strand of hair from her forehead. He swears he can feel Sansa shiver.

 

…

 

“I think it says Hoster,” Jon says after a moment of squinting at the words on the gravestone that have weathered away in the elements to be nearly illegible. He fingers brush the stone as if that will clear something away and make it clearer to read.

 

“If it does, this must be Hoster Blackwood,” Sansa says, appearing over his shoulder, leaning in to squint and try to read the gravestone as well. “Third son of Lord Tytos Blackwood and Bethany’s older brother.”

 

“So Bethany must be close,” Jon concludes and Sansa nods, taking a step back so Jon can stand up again.

 

“Okay,” Sansa looks to the left. “So, we have Lucas, the second son and who was slain at his wedding, and then Hoster…” she takes a few steps to the right to the next gravestone. “This has to be Edmund, the fourth son. Everyone called him Ben. And after Ben… Alyn…” she goes to the next gravestone. “Look, Jon!”

 

Jon hurries to catch up. Sansa crouches in front of the gravestone.

 

“That is definitely a “L” and a “Y”,” she says, her fingers brushing across the worn stone. “This has to be Alyn. And that means...” she begins to push herself up and Jon takes her hand – aiding her to her feet is what he tells himself – but Sansa doesn’t pull her hand away when she’s standing straight again.

 

Instead, she keeps holding onto his hand and practically drags him along to the next gravestone. Jon is _not_ going to think about how soft Sansa’s hand is and he’s not going to think about how warm it is either, holding onto his own. In this weather, why isn’t she wearing her gloves? She was wearing gloves last night, but not now. If she was, he wouldn’t be able to feel the softness. Would he be able to feel the warmth?

 

Focus, Snow, he growls to himself.

 

“Bethany was born after Alyn. This has to be…” Her voice has been growing more excited, but when they come to stand in front of the next grave, her words die off on her tongue. “What…”

 

Jon frowns, too, able to sense her confusion because he feels it, too.

 

The gravestone is blank. Absolutely blank. Not like there were words that had been carved into it and the weather and centuries have just simply – and understandably – worn it away, but blank as if nothing had been carved into the stone in the first place.

 

Sansa kneels down in front of it, not caring about the wet grass soaking her jeans, and she frowns, her hand reaching out to touch the worn, _blank_ stone. She then looks up to Jon, still frowning as if Jon will have any kind of explanation for this though Jon has definitely never seen anything like this; so he wouldn’t be able to offer an explanation even though he wants to try. 

 

“Why…” she shakes her head and looks back to the gravestone. “Why would they have buried Bethany with a blank gravestone?”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! More Cairns trip and research in the next chapter and of course, more Jon and Sansa. Right now, with _that_ show and possible spoilers, I just need sweetness.


	12. Clues to Find the Way

…

 

 **Twelve.** Clues to Find the Way.

Benjicot Blackwood, named for his ancient Blackwood relative, the son of Lord Samwell Blackwood and the Lord of Raventree Hall as well as known as “Bloody Ben”, has immense pride in his Blackwood family tree.

 

He just prefers going by Benji though.

 

He took it upon himself years ago – and has kept the job for that long – of maintaining the upkeep of the Blackwood family cemetery. He mows the grass, edges, trims, weeds and cleans the tombstones; and when it comes to the oldest of the stones, he does his best to preserve them before they crumble even further.

 

But being a caretaker of a cemetery doesn’t pay the bills so Benji has a small coffee shop right next to the cemetery and that’s where he is this morning, watching the couple walk through the cemetery in the light mist through the window behind the counter. The woman is wearing a red rain slicker and the man’s is black. They are looking carefully at each stone, sometimes skipping entire rows, obviously on the lookout for something in particular.

 

Benji admits to watching them curiously. Cairns is a small village nestled among other small villages. They get visitors, but not that many, and when they do, none of them seem to make the Blackwood family cemetery part of their travel itinerary.

 

The woman kneels in front of the blank gravestone of Bethany Blackwood and Benji can see her turning her head to look at the man, the man shaking his head and saying something in reply. They stay there for a bit longer, standing at the blank gravestone, obviously talking as the woman takes her phone out to take pictures of it; not just of Bethany’s stone, but of others and of the cemetery and surrounding area.

 

The man says something and the woman nods. He then seems to hesitate before he holds out his hand in offering and the woman takes it without pause. Benji can see the man’s look of relief through the window.

 

Benji busies himself behind the counter and a minute later, the bell above the door rings out softly as the door is pushed open and the couple steps inside, the woman entering first and the man following after. Both push their hoods from their heads and Benji takes a look at them, struck by how nice of a couple they look. The man is a handsome sort with black hair – longer, from the looks of it – and its pulled back from his face with a matching black beard. The woman is very pretty with long red hair – braided – blue eyes and pink cheeks.

 

It is noted that they are still holding hands.

 

“Much better,” the man says and the woman smiles as she gazes at him.

 

They step away from the door so they are not blocking the way and the man lifts both of the woman’s hands now, rubbing them slowly. The woman doesn’t say anything, but she looks nowhere but to the man’s face. The man looks almost nervous; hesitant to be doing such a thing, but he doesn’t stop. The woman certainly doesn’t look as if she minds his touch.

 

“We’ll go back to the inn to get your gloves before we go to the museum,” the man tells her. “And we’ll pin them to your coat so you don’t forget them next time,” he adds with the smallest of smiles.

 

The woman laughs softly and her cheeks turn a darker pink.

 

Benji isn’t making it obvious that he’s watching, but he is, and he wonders if the man is going to kiss the woman because Benji can see from his place behind the counter – pretending to _not_ watch – that this woman definitely wants this man to kiss her.

 

Instead though, the man clears his throat and slowly releases her hands. “Something to warm us up?” He then suggests and the woman nods, still smiling though it looks a bit smaller, in Benji’s opinion.

 

The coffee shop’s menu is hanging on the wall next to the counter and the couple look it over, taking a moment, making sure they don’t miss anything before making a decision.

 

“Good morning,” the woman smiles warmly at Benji as they come to the counter.

 

“Morning,” Benji nods his head to them both.

 

The man with her doesn’t say anything, but he nods in return.

 

“May I have a large hot mocha espresso?” The woman orders.

 

“Me, too,” the man says, grabbing for his wallet before the woman can make a move and he then steps right up the counter in case she didn’t get his signal that he was the one paying.

 

“Jon,” she frowns now.

 

“Sansa,” he frowns in return, clearly teasing her.

 

And the woman – Sansa – after a moment, breaks into a small smile.

 

“May I take one of these?” Sansa then asks and Benji looks from making their coffees. He has some flyers and pamphlets on the counter next to the register and she’s looking them over.

 

“That’s what they’re there for,” Benji says before putting his attention back to their coffee drinks while watching them from the corner of his eye.

 

She takes one of the pamphlets to look through it, Jon standing a bit too close so he may see it as well.

 

“Is the Godswood of Raventree Hall open this time of year?” Sansa asks.

 

Benji nods. “It’s open all year.”

 

“We can see the dead weirwood,” Sansa tells Jon. “The Blackwoods accused the Brackens of poisoning it.”

 

“I remember,” Jon gives her a small smile and her cheeks turn that lovely shade of pink again.

 

“Those Brackens _did_ poison it,” Benji speaks up before he can tell himself to shut it.

 

Both Sansa and Jon look up from the pamphlet to look to Benji.

 

“The name of the shop, Benjicot’s, is that you?” Sansa asked.

 

“It is,” Benji confirmed, not seeing a reason to do anything otherwise.

 

“After Bloody Ben Blackwood?” Sansa continues.

 

Benji blinks at her. Everyone who comes to Cairns knows that the village belongs to Blackwoods. There are Blackwoods all over. But he’s not used to them coming in here for coffee and getting where the name of it comes from; except the big history buffs and he’s not used to the big history buffs looking like _her_.

 

When he doesn’t answer, Sansa gives him a smile.

 

“Jon and I are here this weekend, doing some research,” Sansa tells him and he brings their mugs to the counter, carefully setting them down, and rings them up on the register.

 

“Research?” Benji finally speaks again.

 

“I’m thinking of writing a book on Bethany Blackwood,” Sansa says and Benji’s grateful he’s set the coffee mugs down already or he thinks he would have dropped them to the floor.

 

Oh, sure, there have been books written on House Blackwood before, but not many, and they all have to do with House Bracken as well. In most Westeros historian opinions, there are Houses far more interesting than House Blackwood. But those historians mostly don’t know squat, in Benji’s opinion. What House is better?

 

Someone – this woman – is going to write on Bethany Blackwood, a pretty obscure family member when it comes to the Blackwood family tree? Just another Blackwood woman in a line of others. She’s his family – centuries old and a distant relative but family is family – and Benji has immense pride in his blood and being a Blackwood, but not even he has shown interest in learning about the woman. He just never thought there was much to know. She was the only daughter to Lord Tytos and she died young and nothing else much seemed to happen.

 

“You _are_ writing a book on Bethany Blackwood,” Jon corrects her.

 

Sansa looks to Jon when he says that and his eyes are already on her. Again, it looks, to Benji, that Sansa very much wants Jon to kiss her; if she doesn’t kiss him first.

 

“A book on Bethany?”

 

“Yes,” Sansa’s attention is brought to Benji again. “Well, I’m just getting my research together at the moment. There’s not that much on her and… do you know why she has a blank gravestone?”

 

“No one knows,” Benji shakes his head, handing Jon his change. “No one wrote about it when she died and after she died, she kind of just faded away, you know?”

 

Sansa looks immensely sad at that and there’s something about this woman. Benji finds that he doesn’t like being the one to make her sad over something he said.

 

“Have you read Brynden Blackwood’s journal?” Benji asks.

 

“Bethany’s oldest brother?” Sansa makes sure and Benji nods in confirmation, impressed.

 

“He had a journal? Do you have the name?” Jon is the one to ask.

 

“Wasn’t like it was some bestseller. It’s actually pretty hard to find.” Benji takes one of the coffee shop’s business cards and clicking on his pen, he begins to write on the back. “My cousin, Royce, owns Flock of Ravens Bookshop in town. You go and see him and tell him that Benji sent you and he has to help you.”

 

He hands Sansa the business card and Sansa takes as gently as she would a bird’s egg.

 

“Benji?” She asks and he nods in confirmation. “Thank you so much, Benji,” she then says in a hushed voice, looking at the card and what he has written down as if he’s just told her that Bethany is still miraculously alive and this is her address.

 

Jon looks to Sansa and then to Benji. “Can we get these coffees to go?”

 

…

 

Royce Blackwood is a man who looks like he enjoys eating several good meals a day and he almost seems too big to fit down the somewhat narrow aisles of his small bookshop, but he manages, his eyes sharp and quick as he looks over the spines of the books in front of him.

 

Sansa stands at the end of the aisle – not wanting to crowd him – and does her best to wait patiently as she watches him, taking the occasional sip of her coffee from the paper cup held with both hands. She feels nervous. She’s not sure why, but she feels tight in her stomach as Royce mutters to himself in his search. Will Brynden Blackwood’s journal have something on Bethany written in it? Even if it’s just a few passing lines – small mentions of his sister here and there scattered throughout the entries – it will be _something_ about her; something far more than Sansa has right now.

 

What does Sansa have? A family tree, the young woman’s last words and a blank gravestone. Anything else will be most graciously accepted.

 

She looks over her shoulder to look at Jon. He’s another reason why her stomach feels tight. Spending time with him – just the two of them – it seems as if it’s only encouraging her feelings for him to grow stronger. She’s glad he’s here this weekend – even if his presence, at first, had completely blindsided her. She’s glad all the same though. He’s brilliant with history and he would be able to help her with her research while taking it seriously and not getting bored over it after just a little bit of time. And, him here in Cairns this weekend, she’s able to spend time with him that she doesn’t know how else she would have been able to.

 

And the more times she spends with Mr. Snow – _Jon_ – the more Sansa finds that she likes about him.

 

He’s standing at the front table now, looking over the books Royce Blackwood has on display there, and just looking at him, her stomach tightens even more. Does his stomach tighten when he’s around her? Or is he still looking at her as if she’s nothing more than his student – former or not?

 

She tries to tell herself that if that is how Jon is still looking at her, it’s fine. It might be for the best.

 

She’s lost count of how many times she’s told herself that already.

 

She’s not going to think about how he looks at her sometimes – with an intensity that no one’s ever looked at her before, his eyes dark – or the way he had so gently brushed a strand of her hair from her face.

 

To Jon, it might all be as innocent as vanilla ice cream.

 

“Here we are!” Royce declares and Sansa’s head instantly whips back to the man.

 

He has pulled something from the top shelf with a triumphant smile, but he frowns as he looks it over. He blows on it and a cloud of dust explodes from the front cover.

 

“There it is,” he says while coughing, ambling back towards Sansa, smiling once again. “The Journal of Brynden Blackwood.” He holds it out for Sansa and she takes it carefully.

 

Jon is at her side once again, taking her coffee cup from her, and she smiles her thanks at him before she looks back down to the book. It’s thin, probably less than a hundred pages – slightly disappointing, but beggars can’t be choosers, Sansa reminds herself – and the cover is black and blank. Looking at the thin spine, she sees that it simply has B.B. in small gold letters printed. Opening it, it takes her eyes a minute to adjust.

 

It’s not typed. The words are in scrawling script; as if someone found the man’s original journal and simply photocopied every page before binding them.

 

Careful as she can, Sansa begins turning the pages, her eyes adjusting to the old script; on the look-out for the only name at the moment that means everything.

 

“Here!” She gasps softly, stopping on a page near the middle, and she does her best to ignore Jon leaning in closer to see and read as well; his chest touching her arm.

 

_Father has met with Jonos once again to discuss marriages. It was thought that I would marry Jayne since Barbara has already been promised to another. All of the Bracken daughters have too-long noses for their small faces so marrying one rather than the other is no difference to me. Father said I could darken the chamber and close my eyes during the bedding ceremony. All women are the same in the dark._

“Charming,” Sansa mutters and she hears Jon snort from beside her.

 

_Jonos also mentioned Bethany and marriage for her. Since Jonos has no sons other than the bastard, father was quick to shut that discussion down. No daughter of House Blackwood will ever marry a bastard Bracken._

Sansa reads those lines over and over. The Bastard of Bracken. She knows this. In her minimal reading of House Bracken – before she chose Bethany Blackwood as her true interest – she had read that before. Not many times, but more than once for her to remember. The Bastard of Bracken. Harry Rivers, who claimed he was Lord Jonos Bracken’s son and though Jonos never claimed him, he never denied him either.

 

Her mind is already racing. Bethany is buried with a blank gravestone, her last words being “But I loved him” and now, for the first time since Sansa has begun this, she has found Bethany’s name linked to another.

 

Harry Rivers.

 

Harry.

 

She swallows at the coincidence and closes the book as gently as she had opened it and she lifts her eyes to Royce. She can feel Jon looking at her and she wonders if he is thinking the exact same thing. She doesn’t want to look at him right now though. She knows that if she looks at him, he’ll be able to read her mind and she feels guilty for having Harry on her mind while around Jon.

 

She feels like she’s doing something wrong to both of them when thinking of one when with the other. When she’s with Jon, she wants to be with Jon and not with Harry. Harry pops up enough without her mind thinking of him and conjuring him up when she doesn’t want him.

 

“How much is this?” She asks him, already prepared to pay just about anything.

 

Royce ambles his large body back behind the counter. “Since Benji has vouched for you _and_ since you’re going to be writing something about our Bethany, I’ll give you the Blackwood family discount.”

 

Sansa bursts into a smile, going to the counter to pay. “Thank you so, so much.”

 

“You just write her something good,” Royce adds, slipping the book carefully into a paper bag.

 

“I will,” Sansa instantly nods her head quickly. “I promise I will.”

 

She can’t help, but look to Jon again and he’s looking at her with those intense, dark eyes and then he smiles at her when he sees her looking at him and it’s then that Sansa knows there’s no use in denying it any longer.

 

She’s fallen completely for this man and there’s no reversing it now.

 

…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely love this chapter and I hope you did, too! Writing a relationship from a 3rd POV is my jam. I'm already looking forward to the next chapter and what I have planned for Jon and Sansa. Thank you so much for reading this story and liking what I've got so far :)
> 
> And again, a massive shoutout to sweetaprilbutterfly for the amazing art!


	13. Distractions

…

 

**Thirteen.** Distractions.

“You’re going to get us kicked out,” Jon frowns at his idiot of a best mate.

 

“Psssh,” Grenn brushes him off. “Did you see how happy that man was when he took our admission money? This museum probably hasn’t had six people in it at the same time in a long time.”

 

“Still. Stop being an idiot,” Jon says and then smacks Grenn up the back of his head for good measure.

 

Grenn snorts with laughter, but he does stop touching the collection of ancient Blackwood fighting daggers. “They should put these behind glass,” Grenn comments.

 

“They probably don’t expect people to actually _touch_ them,” Jon mutters. “Oof!” He grunts when Grenn elbows him too damn near his solar plexus. Jon responds to that by punching Grenn in the kidney.

 

“Oof!” Grenn grunts his own in response and then is quick to slap Jon on his head.

 

“Boys, boys,” Winnie swiftly places herself between them. “We’re leaving Cairns tomorrow afternoon and I would like to actually leave and not be banished.”

 

“I remember my first banishment from an establishment,” Grenn comments fondly. “Never from a whole village though.”

 

Jon snorts with a smothered laugh and returns his attention to the collection of daggers. The details carved into the handles are absolutely amazing and Grenn’s right. These should be behind glass. He swears that he can still see specks of old, dried blood on some of the blades. He wonders how many Bracken men had been on the receiving end of these blades.

 

He reads the small plaques beside each one, listing the era it was from and if the name of the owner was known, that is printed as well. One of the blades makes him go absolutely still and he stares at the words before he reads them again; just to make sure.

 

_Robert Blackwood, sixth son of Lord Tytos Blackwood. Killed with his own blade during a fight concerning his sister, Bethany._

“No fucking way,” he whispers to himself. “Sansa!” He then exclaims out before he can stop himself.

 

Sansa is across the room with her brother and Sam, the three looking over a collection of armor, and she jumps slightly in surprise, spinning around when Jon calls for her. But then she looks at him and Jon wonders what his expression must be because whatever it is, Sansa sees it and hurries across the room to him.

 

“I found something,” he tells her, stepping aside, pushing Grenn in the process so there’s room for her.

 

It takes Sansa only a handful of seconds to see what Jon has found and when she does, she gasps sharply and her eyes fly to Jon as if he has any kind of explanation for this. She then looks back to the blade for a moment before looking to her sister-in-law.

 

“Can you take a picture of this one?” Sansa asks her, pointing to Robert Blackwood’s dagger.

 

Winnie, Jon has learned, is a photographer. An actual one who owns her own small photography studio where she takes pictures for people – family portraits, high school senior pictures, pregnancy photoshoots and so on – and this weekend, she is Sansa’s photographer.

 

With her camera now, focusing the lens, Winnie snaps the pictures Sansa wants, including the plaque and making sure she gets the centuries-old dried blood on the blade.

 

“I’ll be right back. There was a bunch of literature in the front lobby and I’m going to see if there’s anything that might be helpful,” Sansa says, still staring at the blade and it’s almost like she’s not really talking to any of them. She slowly pulls herself away and then begins walking towards one of the entries that lead out of the large exhibit room.

 

And Jon watches her, hesitating for just a moment before he follows after her.

 

He easily catches up with her as she heads down the hall towards the front of the museum. Looking to her face, he notices the slight frown her lips are downturned into and the small wrinkles on either side of her mouth as a result. Jon can’t help, but think that they’re adorable.

 

“What are you thinking?” He asks, distracting himself from the adorableness of Sansa Stark; _trying_ to.  

 

“I’m not…” she begins to shake her head. “I have no idea what to think,” she then answers. She suddenly stops and turns to Jon. “A blank gravestone, a mention of a marriage discussion between her and Harry Rivers, the Bastard of Bracken, before her father shut it down and now, one of her brothers died in a fight that concerned her in some way. What do _you_ think?”

 

Jon understands her wrinkles; her frustration. Not that he thought coming to Cairns would give them all of the answers to Bethany Blackwood, but so far, their trip has given them nothing, but questions and _no_ answers. The three big things they have found out about this mysterious woman has only made her more so.

 

“Since the cemetery, I remember. I have read about blank gravestones before,” Jon tells her. He can hear Sansa inhale a breath, but she doesn’t exhale it; holding it as she waits for him to continue. “For Bethany to be buried with a blank gravestone, either she did something that deeply shamed her family or… she’s not really buried there at all.”

 

Sansa blinks at him for a moment and then suddenly, she reaches a hand out and pushes him in the shoulder. Jon looks at her and then can’t stop the laughter that bursts from his lips, surprised at her response to that.

 

“How does _that_ help, Jon?” She demands of him, her frown returning, and she pushes him again.

 

Jon, still laughing, holds his hands up in front of him as if surrendering. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, unable to stop from laughing, which, obviously, hurts his apology.

 

But then Sansa’s frown fades into a smile and then she begins to laugh, too. She shakes her head and covers her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking.

 

“Hey,” Jon says, calming down again, and stepping towards her.

 

Gently, he pulls her hands down, but he doesn’t let go of them. Sansa lifts her eyes to look into his and staring into her eyes, Jon is suddenly very aware of how narrow this hallway feels as he stands in Sansa’s space.  She doesn’t seem to mind though. She’s not pulling her hands away or stepping away from him. Instead, she is staring at him and her lips are slightly parted.

 

She looks like she’s waiting for him to kiss her.

 

That can’t be right though… can it? Does Sansa want him to kiss her? What if she doesn’t? What if he moves in right now and kisses her and her response is to slap him because he’s completely misread this situation between them and one kiss will ruin absolutely everything?

 

He doesn’t want to risk it. He admits that. Normally, he wouldn’t be analyzing this to death. If they were at a pub right now and he saw her and didn’t know her, and she was looking at him like she is right now, Jon would lean in and kiss her. But this is Sansa and already, she means more-

 

No, he can’t kiss her and ruin whatever this is between them. Companions? Friends? He doesn’t know, but when has a kiss ever made an already confusing situation _less_ confusing?

 

He clears his throat. “We’ll figure it out, Sansa,” he tells her in a quiet voice.

 

Slowly, he begins to release her hands, his own hands lowering down, but as his hands move away, Sansa begins moving her hands upward and Jon stops breathing when they come to a rest on his chest. She is still staring into his eyes, her own eyes looking slightly darker to him, and Jon knows he’s definitely not imagining it or reading more into something.

 

Sansa Stark wants him to kiss her.

 

And the Gods know that he wants to kiss her, too. He’ll never admit it to anyone – hardly even to himself – but he’s been wanting to kiss her since she walked into his classroom for the first time and sat in the fourth row up, aisle seat.

 

He moves slowly – just in case she’s going to change her mind at any second – and he lifts his hands again, coming to rest them on her cheeks. He can feel the warmth of her skin against his palms. He begins to move his head in towards her and like he has stopped breathing, he thinks that, maybe, Sansa isn’t breathing either. Hopefully, neither of them pass out before their lips can touch. It might be considered a bad sign if either of them faint before they can kiss for the first time.

 

Sansa tilts her chin upwards just enough to let him know that he definitely hasn’t been reading this situation all wrong and pausing for just one more second, Jon then closes what little space still remains between their faces and his lips meet Sansa’s lightly and gently.

 

Holy…

 

_Fuck_.

 

He presses his lips just a little bit harder and Sansa moans ever so softly in response. He steps in as close to her as he can, his hands still on her cheeks, and he can feel Sansa’s hands on his chest, her fingers curling into the material of his raincoat. She tastes like the rain. She tastes sweet and fresh and it clenches his stomach because all he wants to do is taste more of her. Now that he’s gotten that first drop on his lips, he wants more; if she wants to give it to him, he wants it all.

 

Sansa’s lips curl into a smile against his lips as he pushes her back gently until she’s pressed against the wall of the hallway behind her. But then the smile is gone as Jon dives in for another kiss. His hands drop and one of his arms wraps around her waist as the other hand presses against the wall over her head. Sansa’s own hands unclench his raincoat so she can touch his face now, fingers sliding into his beard, touching his cheeks and his ears and his jawline.

 

“Sansa,” he breathes, pulling back just long enough for a gulp of air.

 

Sansa is the one to tug him back in for his lips to meets her again. His chest is burning, but he decides that kissing Sansa and keeping his lips to hers is infinitely times better than breathing. Especially when Sansa parts her lips and Jon takes the invitation for what it is; his tongue dipping in to get that deep taste he craves. Sansa moans as his tongue first touches hers and he can feel her hips leaving the wall to come in contact with his. He rips his lips away, hissing, as she presses against the growing hardness in his jeans.

 

“We… we should stop,” Jon manages to get out, panting.

 

For a second, it looks like Sansa is going to disagree with him and honestly, Jon almost wishes that she would. He is fully prepared – already – to continue this if Sansa wants to. Already, he is aching for their next kiss.

 

This woman is making him want to lose every ounce of his self-control in a museum, of all places.

 

He looks to Sansa. _Beautiful_ Sansa with her flushed face and heaving chest as she catches her own breath and her lips swollen from him. He wonders how her hair would look if she didn’t have it pulled back in braids. His fingers are itching to tangle back in her hair.

 

Seven Hells, what is this woman doing to him? Is he unraveling her as quickly as she is him?

 

He must though because Sansa is still leaning against the wall as if she’s not trusting her legs to be able to support her right now and only now is her breathing returning to normal.

 

And then, she smiles at him. As soon as Jon sees it grace her lips, he smiles, too.

 

“You’re distracting me,” she then informs him.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, almost automatically, still smiling.

 

Sansa laughs. “No, you’re not.”

 

“I’m not,” Jon agrees with a shake of his head. “You were frowning and starting to get stressed. There’s no point in getting stressed. Either we’ll get our answers or we won’t.”

 

“And what if we don’t get any answers?” Sansa asks.

 

He likes that this is a “we”. Bethany Blackwood, this book and this research is all Sansa and yet, it’s so easy to say “we” when talking about it and Sansa seems to think the same thing.

 

Jon tells himself to push himself away so he’s not practically boxing her in against the wall, but Sansa is still leaning against it and looking to his face and she’s not acting like someone who wants him to move away.

 

So he stays. He stays and his arm still around her waist slowly moves so his hand rests on her waist. He knows he isn’t imagining the faint smile that brushes across her lips. He wants to kiss her again, but he knows that if he dips his lips down back to hers, they’re going to get kicked out of the _House Blackwood Historical Museum_ for indecency. Jon can just imagine Grenn and everyone else’s reactions if that happened.

 

“No one is going to expect it to be a hundred-percent historically accurate because _no one_ knows what’s historically accurate or not,” Jon tells her. “We find out as much as we can, here in Cairns, and then, you tell the story that you want to.”

 

Sansa is quiet for a moment, clearly thinking that over.

 

“I just want her to be happy,” she finally answers, her voice soft.

 

Jon can’t help, but wonder if she’s talking about Bethany Blackwood or herself.

 

He squeezes her hip. “Then make her happy.”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading. It means the world to me. I love writing this story and am so happy that there are those who love to read it. In the next chapter, I know some aren't a fan, but Ghost!Harry will be making an appearance and Sansa and Robb will have a brother/sister moment. And as always, more Bethany Blackwood research.


	14. Heart to Heart

…

 

**Fourteen.** Heart to Heart.

 

“Why’d you bring this?”

 

Sansa stops reading Brynden Blackwood’s journal and lifts her head to see what he’s talking about.

 

“I like having you near me,” she says and her tone suggests it’s as simple as that when really, it’s not.

 

Harry doesn’t reply to that straight away and looks at the strip of pictures he’s found in her notebook; four black-and-white photos that Harry and Sansa had gotten taken in a photo-booth at their senior carnival.

 

“Maybe you and Mr. Snow should get your picture taken together,” Harry suggests, still looking at the strip.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because you like him.”

 

That’s an understatement, Sansa thinks to herself, returning her eyes back to the journal in her lap. Just thinking of Jon now, her lips curve into the smallest smile. What she feels towards Jon, she knows that it’s far more than simply liking him. She knows it’s not love. Not yet anyway. Or… could it be? She’s only been in love once in her life and that was when she was eighteen – emphasis on  _teen_. She’s not a teenager anymore and neither is Jon Snow. What does she know about love other than what she and Harry had had in high school?

 

Does she love Jon? Already? It’s too soon for love, she thinks, but then what does she know? She knows that her stomach clenches and her heart beats in anticipation when she knows she’s going to see him.  She knows that she looks forward to spending time with him and when they are spending time together, she feels like she doesn’t want to spend time with anyone else.

 

She tries to remember if that’s exactly how she felt when with Harry.

 

Sitting on the bed in her inn room, her back against the headboard, she rests the journal against her thighs as she reads it. It has taken her eyes some time to focus; the script is small and some spots, it nearly ineligible from being copied, but seven pages in and Sansa feels as if she’s already getting a feel for Blackwood family life in the third century and that will immensely help when she is “setting the stage” in her own story, whatever that stage might be. Bethany has been mentioned several times, Brynden writing of his younger – and only – sister with affection that Sansa knows Robb would speak of her if he had his own journal he kept.

 

Harry settles himself next to her, resting his head on her shoulder and looking at the journal as she reads.

 

“It’s okay if you like him, Sansa,” Harry tells her.

 

“I know it’s okay,” Sansa says, not lifting her eyes from the page in front of her.

 

“Do you?” He presses.

 

Sansa sighs; as if this entire conversation has already exhausted her though this is the first time she and Harry have ever had this particular conversation. There hasn’t been anyone in her life since Harry that would warrant her talking about this with her dead boyfriend.

 

She thinks of Jon kissing her; the way his lips had, at first, gently touched hers before gaining pressure; the way his beard gently scratched her chin and upper lip; the way his hands had touched her – as if she was something delicate and yet, something he couldn’t bear to stop touching.

 

There had been passion there. Sansa knows she hadn’t imagined it and once their lips parted, both had been panting, trying to catch their breath again. Only a passionate kiss – or several – could leave them in a state.

 

She wants to kiss Jon again. And again and again. And… maybe something further than just kissing him, but that’s still on a very different page and she doesn’t know if they’re far into their own story yet to be there.

 

“Of course I know,” Sansa answers Harry’s question, finally turning her head to look at him and Harry lifts his head from her shoulder to look at her, not saying anything; waiting for her to say something more. “I just… I miss you,” she whispers. “And I know I need to stop missing you and I feel guilty because when I’m with Jon… I don’t think about you at all.”

 

She feels tears in her eyes when she says those words to Harry even though they’re the truth. When she’s with Jon, the only thing on her mind is Jon – and whatever they’re talking about. It’s only after she’s away from Jon and she’s by herself again does Harry return to her mind and she feels a pressing guilt in her chest for having had him out of her mind at all.

 

“I miss you, too,” Harry tells her, matching her whisper. “And my parents and skateboarding and bacon cheeseburgers,” he smiles and Sansa smiles, too.

 

“I can’t believe I like those now,” Sansa lets out a breath of laughter and feeling that her cheek is wet, she lifts a hand to wipe the tear away.

 

Harry looks at her and he lifts a hand, touching the side of her face, though whenever he touches her now, she always breaks into goosebumps because his touch chills her.

 

She thinks of Jon touching her in the museum hallway and how she had felt like sweating just from his hands.

 

“Sansa, aren’t you tired of missing me?”

 

_Knock! Knock!_ “Sansa!”

 

Sansa jumps at the sudden sound and Harry is gone.

 

“Sansa, you awake?”

 

Sansa wipes her cheeks again as she stands up from the bed, closing the journal. “I’m coming!” She calls out.

 

Gently placing Brynden’s journal aside, she goes to the door, opening it to her brother. He is smiling, but when he looks at her, it fades. Sansa wishes she had looked into her reflection before opening the door.

 

“I’m okay,” Sansa tells him before he can ask. “What’s going on?” She steps back and holds the door open so Robb can come in.

 

“Sansa,” he makes sure the door is fully closed behind him before he faces her again. “What’s going on?”

 

Sansa looks to Robb and for a second, she almost tells him. Robb’s her big brother and he has always taken the role very seriously. He has always done anything he can to protect her. But that’s not what she needs right now. She doesn’t need protection from Harry. She just… she just needs to talk to someone about it, but if she does, they’ll think she’s crazy. And with good reason. She’s seeing and talking with a boy that’s been dead for four years now.  _Of course_  she’s crazy.

 

But… is she really crazy if she realizes that? Crazy people don’t normally know that that’s what they are.

 

“I just… my head,” she tells him because that’s as close to the truth as she can admit to him and maybe it’s not that far-fetched. Obviously, something’s wrong with her head if she’s seeing and talking with Harry.

 

Robb steps forward and with the gentlest of hands, he touches the side of her head where her scar is, hidden beneath her thick hair. She winces as if it still hurts.

 

“We should have picked a better weekend to come,” he says, stepping past her to look at her medicine bag she has on the dresser; as if a bottle of pills that she hadn’t packed is going to be magically there now to help her.

 

“I’m glad we came,” Sansa says, going to sit on the side of the bed, watching Robb. “Jon and I have found a lot more than I thought we would. Hasn’t really given me answers, but it’s helpful all the same.”

 

Holding the bottle of ibuprofen in his hand, Robb turns towards her. His worry is still in his eyes, but the smile creeping across his face is slowly pushing it away.

 

“I like Jon,” Robb says, his smile growing a bit.

 

Sansa’s not sure why, but she feels herself begin to blush. “I’m glad. I… I want you, mom and dad to like him. I hope he’s around for a while.”

 

Robb comes and sits down next to her. “I think you’re safe. Dad’s already talked to me about him, me and Jon going to see that resistance of the River Lords movie coming out soon. And mom, I’m pretty sure she’s been matchmaking between you two for weeks.”

 

Sansa’s blush deepens and she smiles softly, lowering her eyes to look to her lap. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admits and looks to her brother again. “There’s a part of me who still feels like I’m a teenager and I have no idea how to be an adult.”

 

Robb smiles at that. “I’m pretty sure you just described ninety percent of the adults in the world, me included,” he says, bumping Sansa’s arm gently with his, and he grins when she smiles. “None of us know what we’re doing, Sansa. You’re not special.”

 

She laughs at that and wipes at her cheeks again even though this time, they’re dry. “Rickon’s already told me that.” She laughs again and Robb’s smile grows into a grin across his face. They sit for a moment, neither saying anything, and Sansa exhales a soft sigh. “I’m scared,” she then whispers, unable to keep it to herself.

 

“Of Jon?”

 

Sansa quickly shakes her head, but then she pauses. “I don’t know. Maybe a little. When he looks at me or talks with me… I don’t know how to be an adult in an adult relationship. What if I do something or say something and just completely muck it all up?”

 

“Sansa,” Robb says and then chuckles. “Do you see how that man looks at you?” He asks. “Because I’ll tell you. It’s how I look at Winnie.”

 

Sansa feels her heart tighten in her chest. Has she seen the way Jon has looked at her? No. She had hoped he looked at her, but she hadn’t noticed because she hadn’t been expecting it.

 

“I think you could walk to his room right now, throw up right on his feet and he still wouldn’t think you mucked it up,” Robb continues and Sansa laughs softly, her eyes feeling wet for some reason. Robb drops a heavy arm around her shoulders and hugs her into his side. “You’re brilliant and beautiful and the way Jon Snow looks at you. I know that look. He just thinks he’s lucky to be breathing the same air as you.”

 

Sansa wipes at her cheeks again. “I feel guilty,” she then whispers and her eyes are drowning now. “I feel guilty that I’m still here, able to have someone look at me, while Harry’s gone.”

 

Robb squeezes his arm around her. “I’m sorry,” he says softly and she knows he’s saying that because he has no idea what else to say and she doesn’t expect him to know. “I’ll be the selfish one and say that  _I’m_  glad you’re still here.”

 

Her eyes can’t hold anymore and the tears begin spilling out. She covers her face with her hands and as her body shakes with her sobs, Robb puts his other arm around her and he holds her, murmuring words of comfort into her hair, letting her cry until she gets it all out; not trying to get her to stop. Robb – as well as all of the other Starks – has learned that sometimes, what a person needs is to just cry.

 

…

 

She bites down on her bottom lip, staring at the door in front of her. It’s just about nine o’clock now. He might very well be in bed, asleep. They’ve had a full day today and they’re all heading out tomorrow, back to Winterfell – after breakfast, of course, Grenn had added. Sansa knows she’s certainly tired and could easily be in bed right now, sleeping deeply. After crying in Robb’s arms until she was all dried out, Robb had asked if she was hungry. Cairns didn’t exactly have endless options for eating out, but there was a burger place up the lane.

 

Sansa honestly hadn’t felt hungry and had opted to stay in her room and read more of Brynden’s journal. (That hadn’t stopped Robb and Winnie from returning with a large carton of chips and a large strawberry milkshake for her).

 

But now, wearing a flannel pair of pajama pants and an old, thick sweater of her dad’s that she had nicked for herself and never returned, she stands in front of this door, located down the hallway from hers, and she tries to listen for sound on the other side to alert her that he is still awake.

 

How appropriate is this? Coming to his door at nine o’clock at night in her pajamas? And yes, they are very unsexy pajamas, but still…

 

She can’t help it though. She wants to see him. Badly. She wants to see him so badly, she aches to have him open the door just so she can rest her eyes on him.

 

With a deep breath, she lifts her fist and knocks softly – but not so softly where he wouldn’t be able to hear it. And then, she waits, her fingers fidgeting together in front of her and her teeth gnawing into her lip.

 

“I can’t believe they’re remaking this,” Sansa can hear his voice nearing the door and she releases her lip just as he opens the door. He stills the instant he sees that it’s her and she thinks she hears the breath catch in his throat and Sansa’s own stomach flips at the sight of him, her shoulders nearly sagging with relief.

 

He’s dressed for bed, too, in his own pair of flannel pajama pants and black Henley shirt that does absolutely nothing to hide the muscles in his chest and arms. His hair is still pulled back in the bun it’s been in all day, but now, he’s wearing his glasses.

 

“Sansa,” he breathes her name and she is able to give him a small smile.

 

“Is it okay-”

 

“Yes,” Jon answers before she can even get out the question and Sansa finds herself smiling faintly.

 

He reaches out and takes both of her hands in one of his, gently pulling her into his room and closing the door behind her with the quiet click that echoes in her ears. She’s never been in a boy’s room in a hotel that she hasn’t been related to before.  _Man_ ’s room, she corrects herself.

 

“Sansa!” Both Sam and Grenn exclaim when they see her and her smile comes easily now.

 

The other two men are dressed for bed as well, but have seemed to abandon their own rooms to come into Jon’s to watch television. There are beer bottles that they have bought from the tavern next door and Grenn has a bag of popcorn from… somewhere.

 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Sansa says to them all.

 

“ _Child’s Play_  is meant to be enjoyed by as many people as possible,” Sam smiles at her. “Would you like a beer?” He then offers, holding up his own bottle.

 

“Oh, no, I’m alright. Thank you,” she smiles.

 

“I can call down for a ginger ale or something else,” Jon offers.

 

Sansa realizes he’s still holding her hands and she looks to him with a smile. Her cheeks turn pink, liking that he hasn’t let them go yet; as if he would drop them the instant they were in front of his friends. But then, she reminds herself that they’re all adults and this isn’t high school, boys having to act cool in front of other boys.

 

“I’m alright. Winnie got me the biggest strawberry milkshake she could find in the village and I’m still on a slight high from it,” she says and Jon grins at that.

 

“You alright with horror, love?” Grenn asks.

 

“ _Classic_ horror,” Sam corrects him. Sansa thinks he must take this movie very seriously.

 

“I’ll be alright,” Sansa tells them, not wanting to be a wet blanket and make them turn it off when she’s the one who just invited herself to their movie night.

 

Grenn is sitting in one of the chairs and Sam is sitting on the floor in front of the television, leaning back on his hands. Jon settles himself back on the bed, sitting up against the headboard where he clearly had been before her knock on the door had come.

 

Sansa pauses for only a moment before she decides to be an adult; a brave adult who’s been kissed by this man this afternoon and who came here because she wants to be near him.  

 

Jon had been watching her, clearly wondering what she would do, and he smiles when she eases herself down onto the bed next to him. He lifts an arm and easily slides it around her as if they’ve done this a hundred times already and Sansa settles against his side, amazed to find that she fits perfectly and instantly feels a level of comfort she wasn’t expecting immediately. Jon’s so warm and she instantly feels warm, too. Sansa can’t stop from nestling a little closer and Jon responds to that by holding her tighter.

 

…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely love this chapter and it flew from my fingers. I couldn't wait to write it. In the next chapter, we leave Cairns, we finally meet Lyanna and Ghost and they will get to meet Sansa. Also, I have kept going back and forth on this, but I've made a decision and we will see a tiny bit of Bethany in a later chapter.
> 
> Thank you so, so much for reading! I hope you loved this chapter, too!


	15. Repeating History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * A note before we begin: I did a quick change and Lyanna is not in this chapter. She will be coming soon though. Also, since Jon Snow is not a Stark, I obviously made up family and his childhood. How people will feel about this, I'm a bit nervous, to be honest.

…

 

 **Fifteen.** Repeating History.

Lyanna Snow was eighteen when she found out she was pregnant. She had just graduated from high school and had only slept with one man so she knew exactly who the father was, but she never told anyone. Not him – knowing he wouldn’t care or want to be involved – or her parents even with their constant asking.

 

When Jon was younger, he had asked his mom about who his dad was. He would see all of the others kids in his classes have their dads around; coming to sports games or open house nights at the school and Jon hated that his own dad wasn’t there. He thought he was missing out on something, not having one around. His mom was awesome and could do anything. She was the one who taught Jon how to throw a baseball – the two practicing in their yard of wherever they were living at the time – and when the toilet clogged, instead of calling the landlord and waiting, Lyanna took care of it herself and taught her son how to along the way.

 

But, he had read that young boys needed positive male role models in their life as well and though he had Grandpa Snow – whenever he and his mom weren’t moving around and could visit her parents again – Jon still wondered about his father. He couldn’t help it. It was an unrelenting curiosity that wouldn’t leave him alone; not until he gathered the courage to ask his mom.

 

Lyanna had taken a deep breath when Jon had finally asked the question. “He was older than me. A visiting teacher… I thought we were in love…” And there was such a sadness in his mom’s eyes, Jon shook his head.

 

“Never mind,” he quickly cut her off.

 

“Jon-”

 

He felt like he knew the story already without her needing to tell him the rest of it. His mom had been a student and he had been a teacher and _I thought we were in love_. Jon didn’t want to hear about some grown asshole who had taken advantage of a student. Suddenly, knowing about his “dad” was no longer important.

 

He had his mom and his grandparents and everything he was was because of them.

 

Jon knows that his mom knows him well; knows him probably better than anyone. When he pulls into her driveway after returning from his weekend in Cairns, he knows Lyanna is going to take one look at him and _know_ – immediately – that something had happened; something really good.

 

Something _amazing_.

 

Jon knows the harder he tries to hide it, the more obvious it is and his mom will do everything she can to pry it from him. And it’s not as if Jon doesn’t want to share Sansa with her. She’s his mom and if things with Sansa continue on the way Jon is hoping they will, his mom and Sansa will eventually have to meet.

 

Jon just thinks of telling his mom how he and Sansa met – he her professor and she his student. He doesn’t even know his dad’s name, but will his mom look at him and think “Like father, like son” and Gods, that’s already hurting Jon’s chest. There were so many reasons why he had tried to squash his feelings for Sansa while she was still a student in his class and all of them had been very good reasons.

 

Honestly though, his parents and the way he came about to be in this world hadn’t even crossed his mind as one of those reasons. He had gone through so many years of his life, not even thinking about his dad, and Jon wonders that if he _had_ thought of his dad and the entire mess, it would have been the strongest reason he had for not getting himself involved with Sansa; maybe the one reason that would still keep him from her.

 

When he was first born, Lyanna and baby Jon lived with her parents at Long Lake and then, when he was four, he and Lyanna began moving; she wanting to make her own way in the world and not rely on her parents. They never went south of the Neck though. Lyanna told him that they would never go south.

 

Jon was thirteen and had just finished eighth grade in his fourth school when he and Lyanna moved to Winterfell and she got a good job in a sales office, selling lightbulbs to other businesses. Jon can still remember when she had brought him into the office and showed him her cubicle or the excitement she had when she took him to the doctor with an actual insurance card and Jon was so happy because his mom was always a bit of a free-spirit, but suddenly, in Winterfell, working such a steady job, she seemed to feel completely at home for the first time in his life.

 

During his sophomore year of high school, Lyanna had her parents move from Long Neck to come live with them in Winterfell – the Snow family, once again, reunited and all living under the same roof; until Jon graduated and left to attend White Harbor University.

 

His Grandma Morgana is the one to be out in the driveway to greet him when he finally gets out of his car.

 

“Jon,” she smiles, her arms already open, and with his own smile, Jon steps to her and hugs her. “Good trip?”

 

He instantly thinks of Sansa – of kissing her and holding her as they watch a movie and all of the time in between of researching and spending time together.

 

“Good trip,” he nods with a smile even if that one, somewhat simple, word doesn’t begin to cover it. “How was Ghost?” He asks as he walks with his grandma up the front path to the door.

 

Looking through the glass storm door, Jon grins the instant he sees his dog. An all-white Alaskan Malamute – the breeder had said – is rare and the instant Jon saw him, he knew that this was the dog for him and he never would have thought it possible, but he thinks that, sometimes, his dog understands him more than anyone. The instant young man and puppy looked at one another, they had a bond.

 

Ghost stands now, his tongue hanging out and his tail wagging fiercely, shaking his entire body.

 

“Was playing that “poor me, Jon abandoned me” card far too much this weekend,” Morgana smiles. “He got two desserts because of it.”

 

“And because Ghost knows grandpa is a sucker,” Jon laughs.

 

As expected, inside the house, Ghost greets Jon as if he’s been gone for months and Jon laughs and grins as he greets his companion in return.

 

“Are you hungry?” Morgana asks.

 

“No. Thank you,” he’s then quick to add. “Gilly shoved food on me when I dropped off Sam. Mom and grandpa around?” He asks, Ghost still jumping all over him and Jon still giving him affection.

 

“They went to the stables this afternoon. They swore they would be home by the time you got back to pick up Ghost, but you know those two,” she answers with a good-natured eye-roll.

 

Another reason why Lyanna loved Winterfell when she and Jon first moved her – they have public horse stables that any resident is free to use and after her son, if there’s one thing Lyanna Snow loves, it’s the freedom that riding horses gives her.

 

“I’ll hang around for a little bit longer before I head home,” Jon says.

 

He follows his grandma into the kitchen and watches as she fills the tea kettle with water before placing it on the stove. He leans forward, resting his arms on the counter of the island in the middle of the room. He wonders how it would have been if the Starks had gone to Winterfell’s public high school like he did instead of their private school; how it would have been if he had known Sansa and – by extension – the Stark family for years now.

 

“Grandma?” Jon feels brave enough to ask – when it’s just the two of them.

 

“Yes, love?” She pulls two mugs down from the cabinet.

 

“Did you ever meet my dad?” He asks in a rush of words; as if afraid that if he asks at a normal speed, he’ll never get all of the words out. Lyanna told her parents, years later, about Jon’s father after Jon was eighteen and there was nothing that could possibly be done about it.

 

Morgana pauses and then slowly turns to look at him. “A couple of times before… before your grandpa and I knew that something was happening between him and your mother.”

 

Jon nods, glancing down.

 

_…something was happening between him and your mother._

An older man and a younger woman; a teacher taking advantage of his student.

 

Jon swallows as his mind slowly shifts to images of Sansa.

 

“Am I anything like him?”

 

Jon has wondered this question before, but he’s never been able to ask it; there never seeming to be a good time to ask it while also being silently terrified of the possible answer. But now… with Sansa… he has to wonder and he has to know the answer.

 

 _Like father, like son_.

 

He never thought of his dad. Even in this situation, when he _should_ have been thinking of him, he never crossed Jon’s mind. And then he had kissed Sansa – more than once – and the man definitely hadn’t crossed Jon’s mind. But now, being back home after the amazing weekend in Cairns, it’s slapped Jon in the face and now, it won’t leave him alone.

 

From the other side of the island, Morgana reaches a hand out and covers one of Jon’s. “Jon, you are nothing like that man,” she tells him in a firm tone.

 

And it’s exactly what he needs to hear. They both know it. Maybe when his mom and Grandpa Gareth get back from the stables, Jon will ask the question again; just so he can hear the answer he needs to hear again.

 

…

 

Not exactly the healthiest of lunches, but it’ll do. He pulls his cup-of-noodles from the microwave in the staff break room and with his plastic spoon and can of Coke, he heads back down to his office.

 

The floor is quiet. Most of the teachers are still gone; probably most coming back by the end of the week so they can get themselves ready for the start of the next semester. Jon likes when it’s empty like this though. The silence gives him the chance to get the first few weeks of lesson plans done – even though the lectures this semester will be the same he gave last semester. Still, it’s nice to be prepared. And also, without anyone around, he’s able to bring Ghost into his office with him; the dog currently passed out on the couch.

 

Carefully, settling himself back down in his chair behind his desk, Jon takes his first bit of noodles and returns his attentions to his computer.

 

_Knock! Knock!_

Jon lifts his eyes and Ghost lifts his head and Jon instantly smiles when he sees Sansa in his doorway.

 

“Hey,” Jon gets to his feet and Sansa smiles, too, stepping inside.

 

Ghost hops down from the couch to greet this new person, sniffing at her curiously.

 

“Ghost,” Jon warns him though the dog isn’t doing anything.

 

“Oh, he’s so beautiful,” Sansa gushes as she steps forward to set her things down in the chair on the other side of Jon’s desk so she has both hands free to bestow attention and affection onto the dog; attention and affection that Ghost will gladly take from her. “We should plan a playdate for him and Lady,” Sansa suggests.

 

Jon smiles at that. “We should definitely do that.”

 

After another moment, Sansa breaks away from Ghost and comes to Jon.

 

“Hi,” she says in a soft voice, her eyes looking into his, and Jon finds himself pausing.

 

Sansa is the one to make the first move; her hand slipping onto one of his cheeks and her lips moving forward to press against his. And the instant her lips are on his and he tastes her again, Jon presses his lips back to hers. His hands come around to rest on her back, gently pushing her towards him, and Sansa’s other hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

 

The kiss is soft and gentle; even innocent – yet that doesn’t mean Jon doesn’t feel it in every square inch of his body and over every single nerve ending under his skin.

 

It’s only when their lips slowly part again and their eyes open to look into the other’s that Jon remembers that they’re standing in his office on campus with his door wide open and yes, the floor is empty at the moment, but that doesn’t mean that no one could possibly walk upon them right now and see them.

 

He may not be her professor anymore, but he still is one and she is still a student at this college.

 

Jon sighs softly and rests his forehead to Sansa’s. “I wish we were still in Cairns,” he whispers.

 

In Cairns, it really could just be Jon and Sansa. Back here, he’s feeling that guilt again and he knows he’s already tired of feeling that when around her.

 

Sansa smiles and her eyes close for a brief moment. “Maybe I’ll have to go back for more research.”

 

Jon closes his eyes, too, allowing himself to just be with her in this moment. But that’s all it lasts for before he remembers they shouldn’t be doing this on campus. He slowly steps away from her.

 

“Have you found anything else helpful in the journal?” He asks and goes back around his desk as if to make it seem like he is returning to his cup-of-noodles and it’s _not_ because he’s putting space between them.

 

“Yes!” Sansa’s entire face lights up and Jon smiles, eating another mouthful of noodles.

 

He watches as she begins going through her things. She has Brynden Blackwood’s journal, a notebook and several papers. She carefully turns through the journal until she finds a specific entry and then, she comes around the desk. Jon turns his chair so she’s standing in front of him. She takes his cup-of-noodles so he can take the journal and she points to the entry she wants him to read.

 

_Hoster has taken Bethany with him. Mother wanted to protest, but knew that she couldn’t. This is the safest thing to do. Father has promised he will send word in two moons times if they can return or not. Hoster will die to keep Bethany safe. He will not let any harm come to her and he certainly won’t let any of the Brackens find her._

Jon reads the words and then look up to Sansa. “What do you think this is?”

 

“In the past entries, Brynden has written about the marriage proposals Lord Tytos Blackwood has been receiving for Bethany. An only daughter of an old House? Her match is important, but it’s also been mentioned that Bethany had pleaded with her father against every match he mentioned.”

 

Jon reads the entry again and then sets the journal carefully aside. He can’t stop himself from gently taking Sansa’s hand and pulling her down. He sees the way Sansa’s eyes brighten and the blush across her cheeks as she slowly lowers herself to sit sideways in his lap. Jon settles back in his chair, taking his noodles back, and he can feel the stiffness in Sansa’s body for a moment before she relaxes completely.

 

A student sitting in his lap – former or not – certainly doesn’t seem appropriate, but at this moment, Jon can’t bring himself to care (too much). It just feels too damn good having Sansa sitting in his lap, in his office, and they discuss history.

 

“So where would her brother take her?” Jon wonders.

 

“You were right. It doesn’t have to be _absolutely_ historically correct because no one knows what is correct,” Sansa tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think Hoster was taking her away so she couldn’t be with the marriage proposal she _did_ want.”

 

“The Bastard of Bracken?” Jon guesses.

 

Sansa smiles faintly and nods. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? After what we learned in Cairns this past weekend? Or what we _didn’t_ learn, I should say.”

 

“Huh,” Jon says and then falls quiet, thinking that over.

 

The blank gravestone, her brother’s bloody dagger, killed in a fight over his sister, Harry Rivers mentioned specifically in another of her brother’s journal. It _does_ make perfect sense.

 

He looks to Sansa and she’s looking at him, waiting to hear what he thinks about it, almost holding her breath in anticipation of what he thinks. He almost wishes she didn’t hold his opinion in such high regard.  

 

“Bethany Blackwood, a tale of historical romance?” Jon says with a smile.

 

Sansa laughs softly. “I also remember what you said about the blank gravestone. What if she’s really not buried there? What if she really didn’t die and everyone just spread that story of her deathbed so no one would know? What if…” Sansa turns a bit more on his lap towards him. “What if Bethany Blackwood and Harry Rivers of House Bracken ran away together? What do you think?”

 

Jon looks to the beautiful young woman sitting on his lap and he wonders what the truth of Bethany Blackwood actually is because what Sansa has imagined, it sounds like it could actually be the real truth. Maybe they  _will_ have to return to Cairns sooner rather than later. 

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading! I know this story started off slow, and is still slow going, and it means so much to me that you're still reading, commenting and sticking with it. Sansa begins writing in the next chapter and Jon comes over to the Starks for another dinner.


	16. Finding Inspiration

…

 

 **Sixteen.** Finding Inspiration.

She found a postcard in the college’s bookstore and she had bought it immediately. It was printed on thick paper – faint pink with simple black script.

 

**_To begin, begin. – William Wordsworth_ **

****

Sansa now has the postcard framed and hanging on the wall in front of her desk so as she sits there now, at her laptop, she is staring at the postcard; reading it and letting the words register in her mind. That’s all she has to do. She just has to begin and hopefully, things will go from there.

 

She looks to the pile she has made next to her: Brynden Blackwood’s journal, every pamphlet she took from her weekend in Cairns, a history textbook that discussed the feud between House Bracken and House Blackwood that she borrowed from Jon and her own notebook with pages holding her scribbled notes of random thoughts and ideas she’s had in regards to the story she wants to tell of Bethany Blackwood.

 

But now, she stares at the blank word document and the cursor that won’t stop blinking and she doesn’t know. She just doesn’t know. Is this the hardest thing she’s ever had to do? Writing something good and strong and something other people will want to read? Well, there have been other hard things she’s had to do, that’s for sure, but this might be up there with the others.

 

She opens her notebook and looks over some of her notes.

 

 _I don’t even know what you look like_ , Sansa thinks to herself. How can Sansa write a story about a woman – a woman who she can’t help, but love so much – if she can’t even see her face in her mind?

 

Sansa unfolds one of the pamphlets from Cairns and looks over the illustrated map of Cairns, little dots noting the more popular spots to visit. _Cairns of the Riverlands_.

 

“Gods, Sansa,” she swiftly scolds to herself before quickly standing up as if her butt’s just been pricked.

 

But it’s too quick and for a moment, the world tilts on its side and Sansa grips her desk chair to right it again. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, willing herself to get a grip on her balance once more, before she’s able to gather her pile of writing notes and books and her laptop and leave the bedroom, Lady jumping down from the bed to follow her out.

 

In the family room, in the cabinet of the entertainment unit, Catelyn keeps the family photo albums. That’s where Sansa heads now. House Blackwood of the Riverlands. House _Tully_ of the Riverlands. Both of her parents’ families are old families of the North. Many things she had learned in Jon’s Introduction to Westeros History class had been things she vaguely heard of at one point or another because either of her family’s sides had been involved in the events.

 

Setting herself down on the carpeted floor and setting her things aside for the moment, Sansa opens the door to look at the photo albums – with five children and a long marriage, there are many of them. But Sansa isn’t interested in looking at the Stark pictures. There is one – a dark blue leather, worn with age – and Sansa pulls that one out now.

 

It’s not that full – a few pictures of Catelyn Stark when she was Catelyn Tully through various ages, a random one of her Uncle Edmure when he was younger as well, and just a couple of her grandparents, Grandpa Hoster and Grandma Minisa. This does help though. One picture with the Tully grandparents is taken place with a few other family members; other Tullys gathered together for some sort of party.

 

This is the picture that Sansa studies the closest, bringing the photo album up to nearly her nose.

 

Obviously, not everyone from the Riverlands looks alike, but perhaps, seeing others from the same area as Bethany Blackwood will help create a mental image for Sansa.

 

“Oh!”

 

Sansa’s head whips over to see Catelyn having just come in the family room, exclaiming at the surprise of seeing Sansa there, sitting on the floor.

 

Catelyn exhales and laughs at herself for being startled. “I thought you were upstairs, writing.”

 

“ _Trying_ to and failing miserably,” Sansa confesses. She sets the photo album down with a sigh. “I don’t even know what she looked like and since House Blackwood is in the Riverlands with House Tully, I thought I could get inspiration from these pictures.”

 

“Ah,” Catelyn smiles and then comes to join her daughter, sitting on the floor as well.

 

Sansa doesn’t ask her mom if there are any more Tully family pictures. She knows that there aren’t. At least, there aren’t any more in Catelyn’s possession. There are certain things that the Stark children are aware of, but don’t know all of the details to and their mother’s relationship with her sister, their Aunt Lysa, is one of those things. And the term “relationship” is used very loosely. Whatever had happened between the two sisters happened all the way back when they were still in high school and it was over a boy; a boy who liked Catelyn and who Lysa liked. Catelyn didn’t like the boy in return, but that didn’t stop Lysa from being overcome with jealousy at her older sister; a jealousy she let consume her and never get over.

 

When their parents both died and Catelyn, Edmure and Lysa were going through and taking care of things, Lysa all, but demanded that she take all of the family pictures. Catelyn had done her best to argue and demand she be able to take a few for herself and her children, but in the end, it was a vicious fight that Catelyn didn’t have the heart or energy for. Lysa got all of the family pictures and these few are the few that Catelyn managed to sneak away for herself.

 

Sansa can’t imagine any of her siblings being as cruel as that to another of their siblings, but then again, none of her siblings are Aunt Lysa.

 

Catelyn looks at the pictures of her parents now with a faint smile.

 

“How do you think she looked?” Catelyn then asks, lifting her eyes to look at Sansa. “When you first read about her and then continued reading about her, how did you picture her?”

 

Sansa opens her mouth, the answer coming to her immediately, but she stops herself before she can speak. It won’t make sense. She knows it. And she doesn’t know if she wants to say it out loud. But… she knows that if she can say it to anyone, she can say it to her mom. She loves her entire family; absolutely adores them and she knows that they absolutely adore her in return, but it’s always been different with her mom. She honestly has always looked to Catelyn Stark as not just her mother, but one of her best friends, too.

 

In the hospital, when she opened her eyes and truly could see things around her for the first time without the pain medications keeping her eyes heavy, her mom was the first person she saw. It was her mom who told her about Harry and what had happened and it was her mom who held her whenever Sansa woke up screaming and crying and sleeping on the couch in the hospital room for weeks until Sansa was released.

 

“Me,” Sansa speaks; too quietly. She purses her lips together, wetting them, before looking to Catelyn’s face as Catelyn looks to her. “When I read about her or think about her, I picture me,” she admits and keeps her eyes on her mom’s face so she won’t miss her reaction to that.

 

Catelyn’s reaction though is a smile. “You do have that beautiful Tully look to you and the Tully family is as old as the Riverlands. And House Blackwood being from the same region, why _shouldn’t_ you and Bethany share the same looks?”

 

Sansa sighs – relieved – and with a small smile, she brings her legs up, hugging her knees to her chest. “Why do you think I feel a connection to her?” Sansa asks. “Shouldn’t I feel a connection to an ancient Tully?”

 

“Oh, I wish you did only so I could learn more about my family through your research,” Catelyn smiles and Sansa smiles, too. Catelyn takes the photo album with her as she leans back against the front of the couch, her legs spread out in front of her, feet crossed at the ankle. Even wearing blue jeans and sitting on the floor, Sansa thinks her mother always looks so elegant. “But I think when you first learned about her… you were both the same age and I think you might have just felt a kindred spirit in reading a girl your age in history.”

 

“And because she was the same age when she died that I was when I almost-”

 

“Yes,” Catelyn gently cuts in, stopping Sansa from finishing that sentence. Neither Catelyn nor Ned like to be reminded of just how close they had come to losing their oldest daughter. “I’m sure that has something to do with it as well.”

 

She is quiet then, looking at the few pictures of her parents and younger brother she still has, and Sansa watches her. She wonders if this is the moment when she should talk about Harry; tell her mom that she’s been carrying on complete conversations with and seeing her dead boyfriend. Sansa knows she has to tell someone about it and yet, what will happen when she _does_ tell someone? How quick will her parents ship her off for tests and then admit her into a mental hospital?

 

But if she doesn’t tell her mother, who would she tell? Jon? Sweet, wonderful, smart and handsome Jon who’s the first man she’s looked at since Harry? How could she tell him that her old boyfriend before him is haunting her? And is that what Jon is? Her boyfriend? It seems like such a silly term to give to such a man.

 

“Is it alright if I find myself really liking Jon?” Sansa hears herself asking instead.

 

Catelyn’s eyes lift from the photo album in her lap to look at her daughter. “ _Of course_ it’s alright, Sansa. Why wouldn’t it be?” Sansa doesn’t answer and she doesn’t have to for Catelyn to be able to follow her daughter’s thoughts. “Come here,” Catelyn says with a soft smiles and holds her arm out in invitation. Sansa takes it and crawls across the floor to sit next to her mother, Catelyn’s arm going around her shoulders. “You’re here and you’re alive and the _only_ way you go against Harry and his memory is if you refuse to still live your life.”

 

Sansa nods and feels tears pricking in her eyes. She knows that already and yet, it’s one thing she finds very hard to get herself to believe.

 

She thinks of what she told Jon in the museum hallway when talking about Bethany.

 

_“I just want her to be happy.”_

 

_“Then make her happy.”_

 

Sansa sniffles and wipes her cheeks and Catelyn wraps both arms around her now, kissing her on the temple.

 

“Oh my, Sansa,” she whispers.

 

Sansa shakes her head quickly. “I’m alright,” she insists, but even as she does, tears keep flowing.

 

She wishes Harry was here. He doesn’t want her to miss him anymore. He’s told her that. But how can she stop missing him and thinking about him when she’s so certain that she should have died in that car with him that night? She looks at her mom and sees that Catelyn’s eyes are wet now as well; crying because her daughter is and it’s not surprising to Sansa – Catelyn has always been so emotionally tied to all of her children – but she still hates that she’s made her mom cry.

 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she whispers and she’s already confessed that to Robb, but now, telling the same thing to her mom, it, somehow, feels like she desperately has to get off her chest.

 

“None of us do, sweetheart,” Catelyn tells her in reply.

 

And Sansa can’t be entirely too sure as to why those words make her smile, but they do. It’s so close to what Robb has already told her, but maybe Sansa has just needed to hear it from her mom. 

 

…

 

The doorbell rings just before their normal dinner time of six o’clock and Lady and Shaggydog immediately take off for the front door, barking their heads off. Sansa is sitting in the family room, still on the floor, looking over a photo album from when her and her siblings were much younger, smiling at the silliness and adorableness of the pictures. Rickon is on the couch behind her, playing one of his video games and it’s one of those where he wears a headset and plays with others and he says “bitch ass” a lot while things explode. Ned is also in the family room, reading a book and saying Rickon’s name in warning every time Rickon calls another player “bitch ass” though even Sansa can tell that her father isn’t using _that_ serious of a tone.

 

“Sansa!” Catelyn calls out. “It’s for you!”

 

Sansa frowns to herself as she stands up. Who could possibly be here for her?

 

Turning the corner and coming down the hallway, as soon as she sees Jon standing in the entryway, she finds that she’s not surprised in the least he’s there. Him showing up to her house just seems completely natural already. She smiles within a second and when Jon lifts his head from showing attention to both Lady and Shaggydog and sees her, he smiles, too.

 

“Hey,” she says, still smiling, and stops in front of him as he stands up. “Is everything alright?”

 

“I found something and thought of you and I… I couldn’t wait to bring it to you,” he tells her with pink ears and Sansa’s heart flips.

 

“Jon, would you like to stay for dinner? It’s just about ready,” Catelyn offers.

 

“Oh, please stay,” Sansa says, taking one of his hand with both of hers.

 

Jon looks at her for a moment, his eyes staring into hers, and he then looks past her shoulder to her mom. “I would love to stay. Thank you, Mrs. Stark,” he smiles.

 

Catelyn smiles and then leaves them alone.

 

“I went to my favorite bookstore after I left campus and I wasn’t even looking for it, but my eyes caught the title and I knew I had to get it for you immediately. I looked it up and it didn’t have a huge publication. Might have been why neither of us have found it earlier.” Jon picks up a brown paper bag he had set down when the dogs had been greeting him and Sansa can’t hide her excitement as she opens it and pulls the book he had bought her out to see what it is.

 

Her eyes widen as she looks at the title of the book and then she looks to Jon again. Without a thought, her hand snakes to the back of his neck and she plants a firm kiss on his lips.

 

She sees him grin when she pulls back.

 

“Jon… this is…” She can’t even find the words though as she looks down to the title again.

 

_The Women of Harry Rivers, the Bastard of Bracken_

 

“I know you’ve been focusing so much on Bethany, but I think if you have a theory about Harry Rivers, you should learn about him, too,” Jon tells her.

 

Sansa looks at him and this time, when she kisses him, it’s slower; softer. She feels Jon’s hands on her cheeks, cupping her face, and it only makes her press her lips harder against his for more. She has missed this. She just saw him in his office yesterday and had sat in his lap and they had kissed – more than once – but now that he’s here and she’s kissing him again, Sansa realizes that not only has she missed his kisses, she’s missed _him_ and now that he’s here, it feels like everything inside of her is soaring and flipping and thank goodness for her bones and skin, keeping everything inside where it should be.

 

“There’s a couple more things,” Jon says once their lips part so they can breathe. Taking the book from her, he begins flipping through it and Sansa stands as close to Jon as she can. “A sketch of Harry Rivers someone did-” he stops on one glossy page to show her and it’s a charcoal sketch of Harry Rivers and though one can’t tell much from a sketch, Sansa can tell that he had curly hair – maybe a shade towards dark rather than light – a scar over his eye and many would consider him to be a handsome man.

 

“If only someone had done a sketch of Bethany,” Sansa comments out loud as Jon continues flipping through the pages, his fingers hurrying to find what else he wants to show her.

 

“You mean like this?” He stops on another glossy page and Sansa finds herself having to grip his arm with both hands so the earth doesn’t tilt again.

 

It’s a sketch… of Bethany Blackwood.

 

“Look. Sketch of Bethany Blackwood, daughter to Lord Tytos of House Blackwood. By Harry Rivers. They _did_ know each other. You were right,” Jon is saying, reading the smaller print beneath the sketch, but Sansa admits that she’s hardly hearing him.

 

“Jon…” Sansa breathes his name, her eyes glued to the black and white sketch of the woman in front of her.

 

Jon looks at her. “Yeah,” he nods, somehow already knowing what she’s going to say. “That was my first thought, too, the second I saw it.”

 

Bethany was beautiful with long hair, styled in a simple, single Northern braid over her shoulder with the smallest smile pulling at just one corner of her mouth and her eyes are staring right at Sansa.

 

“I look just like her,” Sansa whispers as her fingers tighten around Jon’s arm.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading! When I began this story, I had an idea for it, but began to chicken out and slowly move away from it, but now, fuck it. I'm going to write what I originally had planned. Ned, Catelyn and Rickon all observe Sansa and Jon together throughout the evening in the next chapter. I love writing this couple through other's POVs and I'm excited to write these. Thank you again!


	17. The Way I See It

…

 

 **Seventeen.** The Way I See It.

Ned smiles as he watches Sansa and Jon Snow at the kitchen table. Normally, there is a rule about no reading or books at the dinner table, but Sansa is so excited about the book Jon has brought her, neither Ned or Catelyn have the heart to tell her to put it away until they’ve finished eating.

 

As they eat their bowls of chili and helpings of cornbread – it was Ned’s choice for dinner tonight – Sansa will lean into Jon when she’s found something else in the book to show him. And Jon’s attention is on nothing, but Sansa, Ned notes. Even when he’s eating, he’s watching her from the corner of his eye and when she leans into him, Jon leans into her and together, they both look to the book.

 

It’s sweet, Ned admits, and when he looks to his wife, Catelyn smiles and seems to be thinking the same thing. There’s also a somewhat innocence to it all; two people sharing a history book and reading together. Ned isn’t fooled though. It might _look_ innocent, but Ned knows. He can feel it. He’s certain Catelyn does to.

 

He sees the way Jon is looking at her and the way Sansa is looking at him.

 

They are both eating dinner and yet, they look at one another, both seeming to still be hungry.

 

Ned recognizes that look, he supposes, because he knows he looked at Catelyn just like that when they first began dating and he found himself falling for her. He notes the way this young man is looking at his daughter. As Sansa speaks, a small smile is pulled at the corners of Jon’s mouth and his eyes are set on her and he’s listening to every word she says.

 

Jon Snow looks at Sansa as if he’s never seen anything quite like her before.

 

And Ned has never seen Sansa look at a man the way she’s looking at Jon as well. Not even Harry.

 

It’s hard though, to compare Jon Snow to Harry. Harry had just been a kid; a kid Ned had known for years before he and Sansa started dating. Like any kid, he liked skateboarding – always skateboarding and so good at it, Sansa was convinced he was going to get sponsored and go pro with it after high school – and video games and telling fart jokes. He was a _teenager_. Ned knows that Sansa and Harry had loved one another; high school sweethearts in every sense of the term.

 

Would they have lasted past high school? No one could possibly know that and Ned doesn’t like to think on it, if he’s being honest with himself. He can close his eyes and still see that mangled wreck of a car. And he doesn’t like to think of how his daughter _should_ have perished that night as well. He knows Sansa still keeps Harry in her heart. She doesn’t say it, but a father knows, Ned supposes.

 

But Sansa is looking at Jon Snow at the kitchen table and Ned bows his head towards his chili bowl to hide his smile. His daughter is looking like a young woman when she’s around a man she likes very much. Her eyes are bright and dancing and she’s smiling and there’s a natural blush across her cheeks. Sansa is _glowing_.

 

Ned always thought, assumed really – especially after being so close to losing her forever – that he would be overprotective of Sansa for the rest of his time in this world. He thought that any man sniffing around his daughter would have Ned scowling and showing that man the door; not inviting him to the Stark dinner table.

 

(He’s the same with Arya, too, though he will never say it out loud because he knows Arya and if Arya finds out _either_ of her parents are doing the “parental” thing and looking out for her, it would just make her go crazy with rebellion.)

 

But – and this is surprising to Ned – he actually _likes_ Jon Snow. Even as the man sits there, looking at his daughter with open wonderment and attraction, Ned still likes the young man. He seems to have a good head on his shoulder. He has a good job, is intelligent, is keeping his eyes on Sansa’s face rather than letting them trail to any part below her chin… all very good qualifications, in Ned’s opinion.

 

“Is everyone ready for pie?” Catelyn asks as she and Ned stand up, carrying bowls to the sink.

 

“Yes!” Rickon is the one to exclaim.

 

Sansa laughs, looking to Jon. “Fresh blueberries were at the market this morning and in this house, that means one thing. My mom makes blueberry pie.”

 

Jon breaks into a wide smile at that. “And I take it that it’s a very good blueberry pie?”

 

Sansa laughs and Ned notes the way she leans in – just a little bit closer – to him.

 

“Even if it’s not, you will tell me that it is, Jon Snow,” Catelyn quips, putting two plates with two slices of pie down – complete with a helping of vanilla ice cream – down in front of Jon and Rickon.

 

Ned then comes to put a bowl of just vanilla ice cream down in front of Sansa.

 

“Do you not like pie?” Jon asks her.

 

Sansa’s blush on her cheeks turn just a little bit darker as she picks up her spoon.

 

“It’s Sansa’s new personality,” Rickon answers, his mouth full of pie and Catelyn shoots him a raised eyebrow. The boy swallows and then gives his mom a grin.

 

“New personality?” Jon now asks about _that_. He doesn’t say it as if he thinks it’s funny or it’s something that should frighten him. The man sounds genuinely curious, looking to Sansa for her to be the one to explain.

 

Sansa swallows her own mouthful of ice cream. “I actually used to love blueberry pie. All pie actually. But after my accident… I like things now I never used to and hate things I used to love. When I got home from the hospital, my mom had baked a blueberry pie and I took a bite before practically spitting it out.”

 

“You did spit it out,” Rickon adds. “Shaggydog benefited.”

 

Jon smiles a little at him from across the table before looking back to Sansa. “Sansa’s new personality,” he echoes quietly and Sansa looks at him, smiling shyly, but Jon looks into her eyes, still smiling faintly and Ned, Catelyn and Rickon all feel as if they’re intruding on a very private moment between the two.

 

“History is part of that now, too,” Sansa then tells him. “I never _hated_ history, but I never loved it. Not like my dad and Robb. But now, I can’t get enough of it.”

 

“Lucky for me,” Jon says and Sansa’s blush darkens even more and she leans into him yet again.

 

At the counter, Catelyn cuts two more slices of pie for herself and her husband as Ned scoops out ice cream and without saying anything, they look at one another and share a smile.

 

…

 

“You are such a bitch ass,” Rickon declares as he fires his bazooka.

 

“You have such an obsession over asses,” his best friend, Lyanna, speaks in his ear from her end. “Revealing your depraved sexual fetishes already, Stark?”

 

“Here’s a sexual fetish for you,” Rickon snaps, firing his bazooka again, firing upon one of her convoys.

 

“Asshole!” Lyanna exclaims.

 

“Such fetish talk,” Rickon taunts her – right before Lyanna returns fire and some of his men explode. “Son of a bitch,” he mutters to himself.  

 

Thankfully, his parents aren’t in the room to be overhearing. They took their pie and cups of coffee to enjoy the last remnants of a late sunset out in the back sunroom. Jon and Sansa are the only ones in the room with him and don’t seem to care the way he and his mate talk to each other while playing video games. They sit on the loveseat together, that book Jon has brought Sansa in Sansa’s lap, but Rickon has to wonder if they’re even reading it, considering they’re looking at each other and nothing else.

 

They sit as close to one another on the sofa as they possibly can without Sansa actually being in his lap and her face is close to his, saying something in a quiet tone with a smile, and whatever she is saying, Jon is smiling, too, his hand lifted to the side of her face and playing with a strand of her hair.

 

Normally, Rickon would find the entire display absolutely disgusting.

 

 _“Get a room!”_ He would more than likely shout at them if it was one of his other siblings.

 

Sansa laughs softly then and from the corner of his eye, he sees Jon smiling against his sister’s ear.

 

That’s why Rickon won’t say anything. Sansa’s laughing. He feels like it’s been a long time since she’s done that. Oh sure, she’s laughed over the past few years – since the accident – but these laughs Rickon hears now, she sounds so flipping happy and Rickon’s not going to ruin that by saying something stupid.

 

Normally, Rickon’s protective of his oldest sister. Always has been and he assumed that he always will be. He may be the youngest Stark, but he takes what his dad has always said about the Stark family seriously. The pack looks out for and protects one another. And Sansa… Sansa is just too nice. And, according to his male friends – the ones brave enough to say it – Sansa is beautiful, too. And a beautiful girl who’s too nice? That can always be dangerous around guys who get certain ideas in their heads.

 

Rickon knows that when they were in high school, Robb had shoved more than one guy against the lockers or had even had to punch a couple when it came to them saying things about Sansa. Bran had always been a bit more creative and once, in his science lab, some guy had been talking with another of his buddies about how he’d like to bend Sansa Stark over the lab table – too stupid to realize that Bran could hear everything. The next day, that guy and his buddy just so happened to have tacks on their stools without them noticing and sat their asses right down on them.

 

Bran hadn’t denied it and had even fessed up to it and once explaining to his parents and the principal _why_ he had done it, the principal had suspended him for the rest of the day, but Ned and Catelyn found that they weren’t even able to yell at him for the stunt.

 

Rickon has always admired Bran’s sneakiness, but he supposes he’s more like Robb. Violence first and always.

 

But… damn it. He _likes_ Jon Snow. He’s a nice guy; one who doesn’t immediately ignore Rickon because “he’s just a kid” or Sansa’s little brother. And for being a college history professor, he seems pretty cool too. When he saw what video game he was playing, Jon had smiled.

 

“My best mate, Sam, made it all the way to level twenty,” Jon said. “Played for three days straight to get there. Didn’t smell the best afterwards,” he added and Sansa had laughed.

 

“Level twenty?” Rickon couldn’t believe that. He and Lyanna had been playing this game for a month and couldn’t get past level eleven.

 

“I think he made it up. Lack of sleep and he was imagining things,” Jon said with a little smile.

 

“Three days, huh?” Rickon looked to the paused game on the screen.

 

“Don’t even think about it, Rickon,” Catelyn said, having overheard on her way to the sunroom.

 

So, yes, there are far worse guys that could be sitting on the loveseat with his sister right now, Rickon knows.

 

“They want to meet me?” Sansa is saying quietly that Rickon can hear in between explosions.

 

“They are dying to meet you. Gilly and Maddie… it’s important to them. They’re… they’re very involved in making sure I’m happy,” Jon explains.

 

“That’s sweet,” Sansa smiles. “Are they like your sisters?”

 

“My very annoying, meddling sisters,” he nods.

 

“So… protective as well?” Sansa sounds worried now.

 

“Hey,” Jon speaks softly and gently and wraps his arms around her, nearly pulling her into his lap. “I would never lead you into a lion’s den. I promise.”

 

“I know,” Sansa nods and her eyes close and a small smile appears on her face again when Jon leans in, brushing his nose across her cheek. “Alright. If you want me to meet them, I’ll meet them,” she agrees.

 

Jon’s hands lift to her cheeks, framing her face, and his lips meet hers in a soft kiss.

 

“Oh, yeah! Suck it, Lyanna!” Rickon exclaims into his headset.

 

“Rickon,” Ned and Catelyn’s warning voices float in from the sunroom.

 

From the corner of his eye, Rickon sees Sansa smile again Jon’s lips.

 

…

 

“Eddard Stark, what are you doing?” Catelyn frowns, coming up behind her husband.

 

Instead of jumping away, trying to acting innocent despite being caught, Ned slowly pushes himself away from the front door and gives his wife a smile. “Just spying,” he admits.

 

Catelyn rolls her eyes. “They’re both adults and what on earth do you think they’ll do on our front porch?”

 

“What did I do with you on your dad’s front porch?” Ned asks with a grin and Catelyn rolls her eyes while doing her best to not smile. “He’s a good guy, isn’t he?” Ned then changes the subject, sounding quite serious all of a sudden.

 

Catelyn gives her husband a soft smile and nod. “He seems to very much be one,” she agrees. “Sansa certainly seems to think so.”

 

“She does,” Ned nods as well, chuckling. “I suppose it could always be worse. He could be from the South.”

 

Catelyn laughs and swats at her husband. Ned leans in and gives her a quick kiss.

 

“I’m off to bed. You just about ready?” He asks.

 

“Just about,” she replies. Ned leans in for another kiss and then turns, heading up the stairs.

 

Catelyn has every intention of following up after him, but when she hears Sansa laugh, Catelyn admits that her curiosity gets the better of her. Approaching the front door on her tip toes, she peers through the peep hole just as Ned had been doing seconds earlier.

 

Sansa and Jon stand on the front porch, bathed in a circle of warm light from the porch light. Jon’s arms are tight around Sansa’s waist and Sansa’s arms are around his shoulders, both holding the other tightly.

 

“You’ll help me pick my next semester history courses tomorrow?” Sansa asks him.

 

“I promise I will,” Jon nods.

 

“And they can’t be any classes that you teach,” Sansa adds.

 

“Definitely not,” Jon agrees.

 

Sansa smiles and Catelyn sees the smile across her daughter’s face as she looks at Jon and it makes Catelyn smile, too. She knows that smile. She still gives a smile like that to Ned; a smile of not just happiness, but one of feeling completely content.

 

Jon leans in and presses a kiss to the side of Sansa’s neck before leaving his face there, breathing her in, and Sansa tightens her arms around him, closing her eyes, the smile still present.

 

Seeing that smile on her daughter’s face now, seeing with her own two eyes that Sansa is happy and content, it gives a warmth in Catelyn’s chest. After everything Sansa has been through – and even if she hadn’t been through what had happened to her – this is all Catelyn wants for Sansa; for all of her children.

 

And standing on the front porch in Jon Snow’s arms, Sansa looks happier than she has in a very long time.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A filler chapter, perhaps, but a little break in things was needed before we get into the second half of the story. 
> 
> In the next chapter, all I will say is this: Sansa, Gilly, Maddie, Val and a Ouija board. 
> 
> THANK YOU so much for reading and loving this story!


	18. Fried Chicken and Ouija Boards

…

 

 **Eighteen.** Fried Chicken and Ouija Boards.

“When everyone is here, I’m sorry to say that it’s easier to just treat us all like pigs at the trough. Help yourself,” Gilly says as she places a massive bowl of mashed potatoes down on the table.

 

“This looks delicious, Gilly. Thank you,” Sansa smiles graciously at the woman; a smile Gilly happily returns as she sits herself in her own seat.

 

“Yes, I hope you didn’t strain your finger dialing the delivery number,” Grenn snorts as he looks through the buckets of fried chicken. “Hey!” He exclaims when Gilly slaps him up the back of his head and Sam leans over, taking both buckets away from him. “What-”

 

“You wait until everyone else gets their chicken,” Sam informs him.

 

“And everyone, please be sure to help yourself to the wings and thighs,” Gilly adds with a broad smile.

 

Grenn opens his mouth to say something to that, but decides to remain quiet and without a word, he falls back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, he begins pouting in a manner that would make Little Sam proud; Little Sam who’s currently sitting in Sansa’s lap and had screamed bloody murder when his mama tried to lift him up for his own booster seat.

 

Sansa had been so nervous when Jon had come to pick her up earlier that evening and that had been putting it mildly. She knows Sam and Grenn, yes, but now, Jon was taking her to meet the girls and Sansa knows how girls can be; even if Jon is just a friend to them, Sansa knows that their group of friends is a close one and girls just don’t let anyone into their group and they just don’t let anyone sniff around their friend.

 

“Please tell me about them,” Sansa had pleaded on the drive to the Tarly house.

 

“Again?” Jon had looked at her with a smile, but Sansa had just looked at him with pleading eyes. “Alright,” he said and keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he reached over with his other. Sansa gladly took it. “Gilly is Sam’s wife. They’ve been married for almost five years now. She’s a nurse and she doesn’t put up with any shit of any kind. You’ll see that for yourself. She and Sam have a son, Little Sam, and I’m his godfather.”

 

Sansa listened to every word he said closely, not wanting to miss a single detail though he was right. He had told her all of this already.

 

“And if it wasn’t for Maddie, Grenn would be single forever,” Jon continued. “Seriously. I can’t imagine another woman ever putting up with Grenn like she does. Maddie’s brilliant at numbers. If you ever need help with your taxes, go to her. Her and Grenn own the fish-and-chips place together. Grenn’s in charge of the cooking and Maddie’s in charge of everything else.”

 

Sansa nodded, remembering all of that, too. She visibly swallowed and Jon noticed, squeezing her hand.

 

“They’re going to love you, Sansa. I promise,” he assured her.

 

She had wondered if, perhaps, he loved her, too, before she managed to get that thought quickly out of her head. There hadn’t been enough time between them yet for love to be there already. Deep affection and liking one another immensely, yes. Without question. But love? Not yet. At least… Sansa was certain not yet.

 

And Jon was right. She had been worrying for nothing. Gilly and Maddie both hugged her as soon as they stepped into the house as if Sansa had been a part of their group forever and Little Sam was introduced to her and within the first five minutes, he wouldn’t let her out of his sight.

 

Hence, eating dinner with a toddler in her lap.

 

Sansa doesn’t mind in the least though.

 

“That’s damn mean of you, Snow,” Grenn frowns at him from across the table.

 

Jon chuckles and takes the third wing, setting it down on his plate. “Gilly said to help ourselves to the wings.” He moves to set the bucket down in front of Sansa, but then stops. “It’ll be easier for me to get it for you,” he smiles, glancing down to Little Sam, and Sansa smiles, too. “What do you prefer? White or dark meat?”

 

“I’m actually just going to stick with the mashed potatoes and corn,” she says, keeping her smile on Jon. She leans in a little closer to him. “New personality,” she whispers. She had seen the buckets of fried chicken and got the scent of it and her stomach had almost recoiled at the idea of having to eat it. It had surprised her.

 

Jon looks at her for a beat and then shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

 

“Neither did I until this very moment,” Sansa tells him. “Slightly sad about it, too. I loved a good breast.”

 

“Something we have in common,” Jon cracks a smile and Sansa rolls her eyes because it’s such a cheesy joke, and an obvious one, and yet, Jon telling it is absolutely adorable and Sansa can’t bite back her laughter.

 

Once the buckets of chicken make the rounds and Grenn gets them again, he sighs heavily because his friends are jerks and they’ve taken all of the thighs and wings – his favorites.

 

“Why? Why do I subject myself to the constant abuse of being friends with you lot?” Grenn asks them all. Jon and Sam both let out laughs at that.

 

Maddie rolls her eyes from her seat next to him and drops one of the thighs she took onto his plate before looking to Sansa with a warm smile. “Sansa, Grenn told me that you’re researching to write your own book.”

 

Sansa smiles as she gently pulls the biscuit from Little Sam’s hands that he’s mashing in his face. Before he can huff and start to whine, she pulls it apart into smaller pieces, feeding them to him. “I am. Right now, I’m getting all of my plot points in a row before I begin writing and that’s taking me longer than I thought it would. I honestly thought I could just sit down and start writing, but my fingers seem to stop anytime I try that.”

 

“Maybe Bethany Blackwood isn’t ready for you to write yet,” Gilly speaks up, knowing the subject of Sansa’s book because Sam remembers it; Grenn hadn’t.

 

“Gilly believes in all of that,” Sam gives a nod.

 

“ _That_ ,” Gilly echoes her husband and gives him a frown. Her face softens as she looks to Sansa again. “Yes, I do believe in those things.”

 

Sansa glances to Jon, wondering if she should know that “those things” are.

 

Jon smiles at her. “Gilly believes in otherworldly things.”

 

“Oh,” Sansa looks to Gilly with a smile, unsure of what else to say.  

 

“You can be like your boyfriend all you want and think with… what do you call it, Jon?” Gilly asks.

 

“A logical mind,” Jon smirks at her.

 

Sansa feels her cheeks warm at Jon’s friends so easily talking with Sansa and referring to Jon as her boyfriend; because that’s what he is. Jon Snow is her boyfriend. They hadn’t had such an official talk – not like it had been in high school where one of Harry’s friends had asked one of Sansa’s friends if Sansa wanted to go out with him (and could that even be considered an official talk?) – but Sansa likes the idea that Jon and her don’t have to have a kind of talk like that.

 

They’re together and she likes the idea that perhaps, it’s as easy as that for them.

 

“There are plenty of things that happen in this life, Jon Snow, that not even _logic_ can explain,” Gilly tells him and Sansa gets the strong feeling that that isn’t at all the first time Gilly has told him the same thing.

 

“Maybe we should try to contact Bethany Blackwood,” Maddie thinks out loud. “After dinner, perhaps?”

 

“Oh, yes!” Gilly’s entire face is bright and she nearly claps her hands with excitement. “I’ll get my Ouija board and we’ll ask Bethany Blackwood if she can help you, Sansa.”

 

“Do we have to?” Sam is the one to ask, almost whining, before Sansa can say anything to that. “The last time we tried to contact someone through that thing, nothing happened and Grenn and Jon came back and toilet-papered the trees outside in trying to scare me.”

 

Grenn and Jon both grin now and Sansa looks to Jon, almost laughing, as he turns that smile on her.

 

“You were scared,” Gilly reminds him.

 

“What does _that_ have to do with it? The Ouija board didn’t work and Jon and Grenn are awful people.”

 

“ _I’m_ not. Jon wanted to put on masks and tap on your windows,” Grenn informs Sam.

 

Sam gasps and looks at Jon with wide-eyes; as if he can hardly believe that Jon would do something like that. Jon doesn’t say anything – either in his defense or in denial – and continues eating his chicken.

 

 Sansa has been quiet, thinking the suggestion over as she eats some of her mashed potatoes and Little Sam continues eating the biscuit pieces from the plate.

 

She’s never believed in these things either, necessarily. She believes in spirits, yes. She has read things online that certainly seem to provide proof of haunted houses or buildings so she supposes she believes in that, too. But psychics or mediums, having the ability to contact those dead from the other side of the living plane? No, Sansa has never believed in that.

 

She thinks of Harry. She knows he’s not in the room with her when she speaks with him. She knows she’s not speaking to _him_ and is just holding conversations with the idea of him. She doesn’t think that his ghost is actually floating in the air, haunting her. She never thought Harry was haunting her.

 

What’s better? Thinking one can talk to spirits or having actual conversations with a dead boyfriend?

 

 “If it won’t be a bother, I don’t mind trying it,” Sansa answers and both Gilly and Maddie look excited now. And their excitement makes Sansa smile.

 

It’s so easy for her to pretend that this is something they always do; these three couples getting together for dinner and talking and then ending their evening together with a Ouija board session. It’s been a long time since Sansa has had friends that she’s not actually related to and she forgot how nice it is, spending time with people and making plans to do things together; no matter how ridiculous those plans might be.

 

“I’ll call Val and see if she can come over!” Gilly then says. “She’s always had better luck at making contact than me.” With that, she gets up to get her cell phone from her purse in the other room.

 

Little Sam finishes his biscuit and slaps the table for another.

 

“No, mister,” Sam shakes his head and stands up, coming to Sansa to collect his son. This time, Little Sam doesn’t burst into protests as Sam lifts him from Sansa’s lap. “Let’s give Sansa’s thighs a break and we’ll get you some mashed potatoes.”

 

With Little Sam off of her lap, Sansa is able to bring her chair in a little closer to the table and she focuses on her own corn and mashed potatoes as she tries not to think about Val. She hasn’t met her; has no idea what she looks like and who she is as a person. Jon had mentioned her a couple of nights earlier once Jon had confirmed with Sansa about tonight’s dinner at Gilly and Sam’s – “I don’t know if she’ll be there and I don’t want you to be caught off guard”, Jon had told her. Val is Gilly’s friend and before Sansa, Gilly had tried to play matchmaker between Jon and Val.

 

“Can you tell me about her?” Sansa had asked.

 

She had thought Jon might not want to and his pause had seemed to confirm that. But then he had told her what little he had managed to find out from the first set-up. She’s Jon’s age, a yoga instructor, and apparently, she doesn’t like to read; a very grave sin, in Jon’s opinion.

 

From what little Jon had told her about the woman, Sansa was able to gather one thing about Val.

 

Val is an _adult_ ; an actual adult with an adult job and who no longer lives with her parents. 

 

She is brought from her thoughts when she feels a warm hand on her thigh and she looks to Jon. He’s not doing anything inappropriate or looking like he wants to do anything inappropriate. He just looks like he’s resting his hand innocently on her thigh because right now, during dinner, he wants to be able to touch her.

 

Sansa smiles at him and Jon easily smiles at her in return and Sansa tells herself that if Jon wanted to be with Val, he could have easily been with her.

 

…

 

Gilly goes to put Little Sam down for bed and the others help Sam clean up from dinner – though he tells them repeatedly that they don’t have to help – and when Gilly comes downstairs again, the Ouija board is tucked under her arm and an excited brightness is sparked in her eyes.

 

“Alright, are we ready to do this?” She asks them all.

 

“Is Val able to come?” Sam asks.

 

“She is having a late class at the studio, but she said she would come as soon as it’s finished. We’ll try this first time without her. How about…” Gilly looks around the room. “Let’s try in the family room. We’ll pull the coffee table out so we can all easily sit around it.”

 

With that, she goes into the family room, Sam following behind her, turning off the kitchen lights, and Maddie and Grenn, with fresh bottles of beer, follow as well. Before Sansa can go into the family room as well, Jon reaches out and takes a gentle hold of her hand, stopping her.

 

“Having fun?” Jon asks her with a small smile, but she can tell that he’s actually a little nervous about her possible answer. She realizes – after a moment – that it seems to be important to him that she likes his friends.

 

That gives her a warmth in her chest that she wasn’t expecting and she smiles, turning to face him completely.

 

“I am,” she gives a nod. “Do they approve of me, do you think?” She then has to ask.

 

“They definitely do,” Jon tells her. “I told you. They just want me happy and I think it’s fairly obvious that I am.” He stares into her eyes as he says that.

 

The warmth in her chest begins to spread, growing hotter as it does, and Sansa is able to feel it in even in the tips of her fingers and her toes. Without saying anything, she leans in and kisses him softly on the lips. Jon lifts his hands and gently cups her cheeks as he kisses her. Sansa has learned that he likes to touch her face when he kisses her and she certainly doesn’t mind.

 

In the family room, Sam has cleared the coffee table off and Gilly has spread the familiar board out. Everyone sits in spots around the table, all able to reach easily for the small, heart-shaped wooden planchette. Gilly’s board, Sansa notes immediately, is not the cheap sort bought from a toy store. Gilly’s Ouija board is made completely out of wood, smoothed down, with the alphabet, numbers, _Yes, No, Hello_ and _Goodbye_ carved in.

 

It’s actually quite beautiful, but looking at it, Sansa feels a cold sweep down her spine she can’t explain.

 

“Would you like to contact Bethany Blackwood first or is there another person you’d like to speak with first?” Gilly asks Sansa as she lights two unscented candles; to add to the mood, Sansa supposes.

 

“Um…” Sansa pauses to think. _Harry_ whispers across her mind. “I would love to contact her if we’re able to,” she then admits.

 

“Jon, no,” Gilly says as Jon’s fingers move to rest on the planchette. “You don’t believe. The board knows it.”

 

“You’re kidding,” Jon stares at her. “It’s an inanimate object, Gilly. The board doesn’t _know_ anything.”

 

“No,” Gilly says again. “I mean it. Sit on your hands, mister.”

 

“I’m not sitting on my hands,” Jon grumbles and Sansa can’t help, but let out a soft giggle.

 

She leans in and kisses him on the cheek and Jon’s scowl seems to disappear instantly.

 

“Grenn, no to you, too.”

 

“I promise I won’t push it this time,” Grenn says.

 

“No,” Gilly says with finality.

 

Sansa thinks of Jon’s words in regards to Gilly and she bites down on her lip to keep from smiling so obviously. _She doesn’t put up with any shit of any kind. You’ll see that for yourself._

“Okay. Sansa, Sam and Maddie, let’s place our index and middle fingertips on the planchette. Lightly. Just rest them there,” Gilly instructs and she and the other three do just that. “Close your eyes and begin to clear your mind. Sansa, is there anything we need to know about Bethany Blackwood?”

 

Sansa, again, pauses to think. “I don’t know enough about her.”

 

“That’s why we’re doing this, Gilly,” Jon speaks out, dryly. Grenn then mutters the others can’t hear and Jon snorts with laughter.

 

“I’m going to attempt to make contact with her first and once we have contact, Sansa, you will take over and ask her spirit anything you wish,” Gilly tells them. “Are we ready?”

 

It’s quiet then and Sansa is able to clear her mind of all thoughts except for one.

 

Bethany Blackwood. A woman who looks just as she does and Sansa wants to know everything about her.

 

“Bethany Blackwood,” Gilly speaks then. “I’m trying to reach out for a Bethany Blackwood of House Blackwood in the Riverlands. Is she able to talk with us tonight?”

 

Grenn smothers his laughter with his hand and with her eyes closed, Maddie’s still able to kick him.

 

“Bethany Blackwood, there is a Sansa Stark here and she would very much like to talk with you. If you are able to talk with her, would you please let us know?”

 

It’s so quiet then, Sansa can hear it drumming in her ears. She finds herself holding her breath, too, as she thinks of Bethany’s name, over and over again in her mind, pleasing with her spirit to be here tonight. She never thought she believed in anything like this, but suddenly, Sansa _wants_ to believe; more than anything.

 

Behind her closed lids, Sansa thinks she’s sees something. Up ahead. Is she imagining it? She must be. Any other explanation just doesn’t make sense. Her eyes are closed. She shouldn’t be seeing anything. But she is. Ahead, there’s swirling smoke. No… not smoke. It’s fog. Gray and swirling in a never ending blackness.

 

“Bethany, are you here tonight?” Gilly asks.

 

Sansa can hardly hear her though. She can’t open her eyes even if she wanted to and she finds that she doesn’t want to. The fog she still sees ahead of her means something. She knows it does.

 

“Bethany?” Sansa asks and she doesn’t know if she asks that out loud or not, but it doesn’t matter. She’s here. Sansa knows she is. She can _feel_ it. The fog is growing thicker in front of her and then, it begins to move towards her, swirling slowly around her.

 

She gasps. A hand touches her shoulder from behind. Jon or Bethany or someone else, she has no idea. But it’s definitely a hand and she’s definitely not imagining it. Her heart racing so fast in her chest lets her know that she’s not imagining it. She can hear a scream then, but it sounds too far away for Sansa who knows who’s making it.

 

Is it her? Is she screaming?

 

The screaming gets louder as she feels herself beginning to fall backwards. Her hands grab at the air, desperate to hold onto anything, but there’s nothing; nothing except the fog and the surrounding blackness and when she falls backwards, there’s nothing to do except fall.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Val's appearance got pushed back as this chapter became longer than I thought (but kind of expected). The next chapter will be from Sansa's POV again and we will be meeting Bethany for the first time as well as Sansa seeing someone else very familiar to her. Thank you so, so much for reading and I hope you still like this story despite the turn it took in this chapter.


	19. Seeing Bethany

…

 

**Nineteen.** Seeing Bethany.

“Don’t move her!” Val exclaims just as they are scrambling to do just that. Following Gilly’s instructions, Val had come straight over from her last yoga class – not that she minds; as soon as Gilly said _Ouija board_ , Val was anxious to get over here – and the door had been unlocked, as Gilly promised, so Val could come right in.

 

And as soon as she did, she saw a redhead – Jon’s girlfriend, she assumes, since she has no idea who she is otherwise and Gilly had told her who was over tonight – falling backwards on the carpet from where she sat.

 

“Of course we have to move her,” Jon frowns at her, but she can see how scared he is.

 

Sam is kneeling on the other side of her, his fingers on her wrist, feeling her heartbeat, and Grenn has his cellphone in hand, ready to call for an ambulance. Gilly comes to join them on the floor, bringing a pillow from the couch with her and gently, she lifts Sansa’s head to rest on it.

 

“Val’s right, Jon,” Gilly tells him. “We can’t move her. If we move her…” she trails off and looks to Val; as if, perhaps, Val will be better at explaining this than her.

 

Jon stares at them both, waiting. “What?” He barks out when neither finish Gilly’s initial sentence.

 

He can feel his heart pounding in his chest; beating so fast and if anything, it seems to only gain in speed when Sam gently lifts one of Sansa’s eyelids then, exposing the white of her eye.

 

A Ouija board. What the fuck was he thinking, going along with this? Yes, Sansa is an adult and she can do whatever she pleases and if Gilly suggests playing with a Ouija board and Sansa wants to, who the hell is Jon to tell her that he thinks she shouldn’t?

 

He’s her boyfriend. At least, he assumes he is. They haven’t had any kind of conversation that would give either of them any labels of any kind, but his friends have been calling Sansa his girlfriend and tonight, Jon’s been referred to as Sansa’s boyfriend and neither have voiced objections. Jon likes that they don’t have to necessarily have a conversation about what they are. He likes that Sansa is his girlfriend and being her boyfriend feels like it’s the most right his life has ever felt.

 

But right now, this isn’t right. Right now, he’s fucking terrified.

 

“If we move her,” Val finally continues where Gilly left off. “She’ll have a hard time finding her way back.”

 

“Her way back?” Maddie is the one to ask, having stood up and is now watching with wringing hands.

 

Val nods and keeps her eyes on Jon as he stares at her with a clenched jaw. “She’s fainted. She’s fine. But, she’s made contact and she needs to stay in the spot where she made that contact.”

 

“Made contact?” Jon echoes and somehow, his frown manages to grow even deeper. He looks to Val and then to Gilly before back to Val. “You can’t be serious. It’s a fucking Ouija board. They sell them at toy stores!”

 

He looks to Sam and then Grenn and Maddie for some help – support – but they are all looking at Sansa, obviously having no idea what to say because they don’t understand what’s happening. Jon looks back to Val and Gilly and he wants to yell at them more. Somehow, Sansa fainting is all of their fault. It has to be because there’s no other explanation. It’s a fucking game. Even if Gilly bought hers from some crazy psychic years earlier, it doesn’t make it any more real than the cheap cardboard ones.  

 

He then looks down to Sansa. It looks like she’s simply taking a nap on Sam and Gilly’s family room floor. She looks so peaceful, her beautiful red hair fanned out around her. She doesn’t look as if she’s in pain or is scared. She’s just… sleeping. Sam has checked her heart. It’s still beating. He just wishes she would open her eyes. Whatever happened, he wishes it would end so Sansa can open her eyes.

 

…

 

For as suddenly as Sansa felt herself falling back and the scream that rose from her throat, when she lands, it’s as light and gentle as a fallen leaf landing in the grass.

 

She snaps her eyes open and immediately, she finds herself looking up at the most beautiful blue sky she’s ever seen. White clouds as fat and puffy as cotton balls slowly drift by and Sansa lies there for a moment, trying to figure out where she is. She’s certainly not at the Tarly house any longer, in their family room with Jon and his friends. Is she home? Is it the next day and she’s lying in her backyard?

 

No. As soon as she wonders that to herself, Sansa already knows that that’s not right.

 

She’s not home and she’s not with Jon. She can’t sense him. Wherever she is, he wasn’t able to come to.

 

“Hello, sexy beast.”

 

Slowly, she sits up. She expects her head to be spinning, but it’s not as she sees Harry standing at her feet, his hands in the pockets of his jeans and his usual grin across his face.

 

“I hate when you call me that,” Sansa frowns at him.

 

“I know. Why do you think I call you that?” Harry questions her in return and laughs when she rolls her eyes.

 

She holds out her hands and Harry leans in, grasping them and then helping her to her feet.

 

“Am I dead?” Sansa asks him. She wonders why she doesn’t feel scared in the least bit.

 

“You are very calm if you are truly asking that,” Harry says and Sansa takes a moment to look around.

 

There are thickets of trees and tall, blowing grass and she can hear the gentle rush of a nearby creek and past that, she can hear festive music playing. She then looks back to her boyfriend.

 

No…

 

_Jon_ is her boyfriend. But, Harry never stopped behind her boyfriend. They never broke up. So, does that mean Harry is still her boyfriend? What’s the term for a boyfriend who died, but is still around? Her otherworldly boyfriend? She nearly rolls her eyes – this time, at herself.

 

“No, you’re not dead,” Harry answers her. “You’re where you wanted to go.”

 

“Why are you here?” Sansa asks and there’s about a hundred more questions she wants to ask, but Harry being here, she actually able to touch him and _feel_ him beneath her hands, that feels like the _most_ important question to ask at this very second.

 

“Because you need me to be,” he shrugs with a smile. “If I weren’t here, you’d be _really_ lost.”

 

“And you’re sure I’m not dead?”

 

“If you didn’t die that night, Sansa, I can’t imagine you dying from touching a Ouija board. Seriously, though. A Ouija board?” He is back to grinning and lets out a laugh when Sansa slaps a hand in his stomach. “You could have just talked to Bethany Blackwood like you talk to me if you wanted to contact her so badly.”

 

Sansa blinks at him. “What are you talking about? She’s dead, Harry. _You’re_ dead. I shouldn’t be able to talk to anyone who’s dead.”

 

“And you can’t talk to just anyone. You can talk to me because you can’t let me go and if you try, I’m sure you can try to get a hold of Bethany Blackwood. It’s not like she’s busy, talking to anyone else. You’re the first person to remember her in a very long.”

 

Sansa thinks that over for a moment. “I can let you go,” she then whispers.

 

Harry doesn’t comment on that because they both seem to know that that’s not exactly the truth.

 

“Should I let you go?” She then asks and it’s a question that scares her, but one that she has to ask.

 

He looks at her for a moment and she has his picture tucked into her mirror that she looks at every day, but she’s almost forgotten just how green his eyes. Green as the grass they’re standing in right now. And, if she looks into them, stands close enough to him to have their noses touch, she’ll see the flecks of gold there, too.

 

“If you hadn’t died that night, if we had gone to Clair’s graduation party and had been with all of our friends and then, after, you dropped me off at home – safely – and you made it back safely to yours that night, would we still have been together after all of this time?” She asks.

 

She doesn’t know if Harry can see _what ifs_ where he is now – wherever that is – but it’s something she’s asked herself over and over again, too many times to count, since that night and she knows she’ll never get an answer, but she doesn’t stop asking it.

 

She has noticed that she thinks of it far less – not at all – when she’s with Jon.

 

When she’s with Jon, she’s with him and only him in the present. Anytime, she’s away from him though, that’s when the questions, and Harry, creep back into her mind. It makes her feel selfish; like she’s only with Jon so her mind can think of something else. That’s not true though. She likes Jon so, so much. She’s not with him only so she doesn’t have to think of certain things.

 

“We would have gone to college like we planned. I would have wanted to join a fraternity and you would have taken your studies serious enough for the both of us. I would have gotten drunk one night and kissed some girl. You would have found out and slapped me in the quad for everyone to see and dump my cheating ass. The next semester, you would meet a nice boy in one of your classes and I would be left crying by some keg.”

 

Harry says it all so matter-of-factly, Sansa blinks at him for a moment. But then he breaks into a grin and she rolls her eyes, looking away, but not before slapping him in the stomach again.

 

“I don’t know what would have happened, Sansa. I can’t see that. That’s just what I thought would happen to us,” Harry then says and Sansa looks back to him, this time, frowning. “Even still alive, I knew that we would have ended like that.”

 

“If that’s how you thought we were going to end, why insist that we go to the same college? Why not break up right after high school?” Sansa demands of him. Suddenly, she wishes he was very much alive so she could have her own chance to kill him.

 

And if he can read her thoughts, Harry smiles and shrugs. “Youthful optimism. Maybe we wouldn’t have ended at all. Who could know?”

 

Sansa is quiet, staring at him, not knowing what else to say to him right now.

 

“We’re not here for this though. Come on,” Harry shakes his head and then grabs her hand, tugging her forward. He takes long strides through the grass and Sansa’s not short, but she’s not as tall as Harry and she has to skip somewhat to keep up with him.

 

“Where are we going?” She asks him as they cross the field, the festive music getting louder.

 

Harry doesn’t answer and just continues leading the way. After a minute, they come over a small hill and looking down, along a sparkling creek of water, Sansa can see that it’s a party. Dozens of people are below, dancing and talking and enjoying themselves. She can smell roasting meats in the air and there are colorful streamers strung between poles for decoration. There is a long table and the edge of where the people are dancing and Sansa looks closer. They aren’t dressed like she and Harry are dressed; in jeans and Harry in the polo shirt he had been wearing _that night_ and Sansa in her sweater.

 

No. These people… they’re dressed like they’re at some historical festival, but she knows that that’s not what’s going on. Somehow, she knows.

 

She looks to Harry, not having to ask the obvious question.

 

“The wedding of Brynden Blackwood and Jayne Bracken,” Harry tells her. “Let’s get closer.”

 

“No, Harry!” Sansa grabs his hand with both of hers and she feels her heart pounding.

 

It’s a dream. It’s a dream. It _has_ to be a dream.

 

“They can’t see us. This has already happened,” Harry assures her and as he begins making his way down the hill, Sansa finds herself unable to stop herself from following.

 

Harry’s right. They can easily step into the swarm of wedding guests without anyone looking twice at them. Sansa’s tense shoulders begin to ease as she looks at everything – the food, the clothes worn, the musicians and their instruments. She studies the faces of everyone she possibly can. There are no photographs, obviously, so she can’t know who she’s looking at; if it’s someone who’s name she has read a hundred times or if it’s someone who lived and died and no one past their life knew their name at all.

 

Catching a flash of red from the corner of her eye, Sansa spins quickly. Again though, she doesn’t lose her balance. Her feet are firm on the ground, she hasn’t lost her equilibrium and Sansa has almost forgot how it feels to not sway with the earth when she does something as simple as turn.

 

“There she is,” Harry speaks, coming up beside her. Sansa notices that he’s holding a tankard of some drink – probably ale – and she wonders how it’s possible he’s able to drink that, but she doesn’t care enough to ask.

 

There she is, her mind echoes Harry’s words.

 

Her long, red hair – _Sansa’s_ red hair – is in an intricate style with complicated braids, pinned up so it’s off of her face, weaving around her head like a crown. Her dress is dark scarlet – the color of House Blackwood – and despite her status, she wears no jewelries or adornments. Her cheeks are pink as she dances and she is laughing so brightly, it lights her entire face.

 

Sansa stares at Bethany Blackwood and feels a longing in her chest she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand why she and Bethany look like twins. She doesn’t know why of all of the names in her history book from Jon’s class, is Bethany the one she latched onto.

 

She can hear Bethany’s laugh over the music and other people and it’s like a siren’s song. Sansa’s feet moves towards her before she even fully realizes it. She doesn’t stop though and within seconds, she’s close enough to Bethany to see that her long, pale neck is flushed now as well.

 

“You haven’t stepped on my feet in almost ten beats. That’s a record,” Bethany teases and Sansa swallows.

 

Bethany’s voice is Sansa’s voice.

 

“I told you I’m a fast learner,” a male’s voice answers her.

 

Sansa’s head snaps over to see Bethany’s dance part.

 

The gasp is sharp in her throat and she nearly chokes on it as she stumbles backwards.

 

“Easy now,” Harry says as Sansa’s back falls into his chest. “You also need to see this.”

 

The man Bethany is dancing with… it’s Jon. _Her_ Jon.

 

He is wearing breaches and a doublet in gold and brown – House Bracken colors. He has black hair, pulled back from his face, tied behind his head – just as Jon wears it – and this man even has a scar over his right eyebrow just as Jon has.

 

Bethany and the man reach their hands out then, taking hold of the other and they step in close together, their hands above their heads as they turn in circles.

 

“I’d like to see you tonight,” he whispers to her.

 

Sansa finds that despite the whisper, she can still hear them perfectly fine through the music and other dancing couples as if Bethany and this man are the only ones here.

 

Bethany swallows and shakes her head. “You can’t.”

 

“Your brother is married to my sister. Our Houses are at peace,” he says.

 

“For the moment. You know how it goes though.”

 

“Please, Bethany. I need to see you.”

 

“It’s not safe for you. My father has already turned down our match. He says you are not worthy of me and your reputation for the chambermaids certainly precedes you.”

 

“And you know that’s not true. _You_ know it. You are the only woman for me, Bethany. The only one I want.”

 

Bethany stares into this man’s eyes as they keep turning in circles. “And you’re the only man I want, Harry.”

 

Sansa opens her mouth, but no sound escapes her, and she’s glad _her_ Harry is standing right behind her because otherwise, she knows she would fall straight to the ground.

 

Harry Rivers, the Bastard of Bracken.

 

It’s just as she began to suspect through her research. Harry and Bethany… it’s true. What she wants to write, it’s absolutely true. At least, this part; the them-being-in-love part of the story Sansa wants to write. What else happened to them, she doesn’t know, but this – _this_ – is true.

 

But there are still so many questions and now, there are two main, very big ones.

 

Why does she look exactly like Bethany and why does Jon look exactly like Harry Rivers?

 

“Time to go,” Harry suddenly says.

 

“No, I’m not ready,” Sansa shakes her head frantically, turning to face him. “Please let me stay.”

 

“You can’t stay too long, Sansa. You’ve seen enough.”

 

“Harry-” Sansa begins to protest, but Harry lifts a hand and gently puts it over her eyes, her world turning black again, but this time, instead of falling, she feels herself rocking gently, as if she’s floating on water.

 

_“…Sansa…”_

She hears her name and she knows it’s not Harry. It’s Jon’s voice.

 

Jon. She suddenly feels a longing pulling in her stomach; as if she has missed him so much after going far too long without seeing him.

 

She forces her eyes to open and they do with a flutter. The first thing she sees is Jon. _Her_ Jon; not Harry, the Bastard of Bracken. His face melts with relief when he looks into her eyes and he exhales a sigh. She feels the carpet beneath her and she knows, without a doubt, that she’s back in the Tarly family room.

 

“Sansa,” Jon says her name again; as if he has to just say it so he’s sure.

 

Without saying anything herself, Sansa sits up quickly – she feels the world spinning in response to the quick movement – but she doesn’t care. She throws her arms around him tight and doesn’t want to let him go.

 

“Sansa,” he breathes softly and she can feel him press his face to the side of her neck as his arms wrap around her, holding her tight.

 

Sansa closes her eyes and she swears that she can feel his heart beat just as clearly as she can feel her own and she swears hers and Jon’s hearts are beating at the exact same pace.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter flew - _flew_ \- from my fingers. I was so ready for this chapter and I'm so glad I decided to tell the story I initially wanted to tell when I started this one and didn't chicken out. I think it's time for Sansa and Jon to go on another road trip back to the Riverlands for more research! (Just the two of them)


	20. The First Eighty Pages

…

 

 **Twenty.** The First Eighty Pages.

As he wraps the cord around the vacuum cleaner, Jon looks to Ghost. “You need to go out one last time? Now’s your chance,” he tells the dog.

 

Ghost just remains sitting and sweeping his tail back and forth across the floor. If he had to go out, he would go to the front door to get his leash, but he doesn’t move so Jon is going to assume he doesn’t have to go.

 

Once the vacuum is put away in the front hall closet, Jon looks over the rest of his flat. His papers and books are in a neat pile on his desk, which he has also straightened. There aren’t dirty dishes in the sink, the bed in his room has been made – not that he’s expecting it to see any action this evening – his clothes are either folded back in the drawers or tossed into the hamper, the toilet has been cleaned as has the bathroom counter. He’s even dusted quickly. Yes, he will say that his flat is ready for guests.

 

Or rather, _one_ guest in particular.

 

He doesn’t normally live like a slob. He won’t necessarily consider himself to be a messy person. But during the week, between classes and grading papers and office hours, Jon admits that he tends to leave things piled up until the weekend when he has the time to straighten things out again.

 

Tonight though, for the first time, Sansa is coming over. Sansa, here, in his flat and Jon wants it to be perfect.

 

On Wednesdays, Jon only has one class to teach – an advanced class on the Kings of Winter – and after ten o’clock, he was back in his office, grading papers and going through his emails. A little bit before noon, he lifted his head when he heard a knock on the open door and smiled the instant he saw that it was Sansa, her messenger bag on her shoulder and books in her arms, hugged to her chest.

 

“Hey, how was class?” He asked her as she came into the small room.

 

Without a word, Sansa dropped her bag onto the floor, sat in the chair across from him and dropped her head down onto her books, now in her lap, with a groan.

 

“That good?” Jon asked, unable to bite back his smile as he looked to her.

 

“I hate it,” she groaned and then – slowly – she lifted her head again to look at him. “It’s so, so awful, Jon. Why am I taking this class? Why?”  She was almost whining and Jon found it ridiculously adorable.

 

“It’s a required course for a history degree,” he reminded her as gently as he could. “How’s Professor Lannister?” He then asked, already having his own opinion on the man and now wanting to know Sansa’s.

 

Jon got along with the other teachers in the history department, but there was just something about Tyrion Lannister he could never put his finger on. The man was from the South and just seemed to act like he was far more clever than anyone else around him. Jon didn’t really talk to him unless he absolutely had to.

 

“Is it true that he was fired from UKL for constant drunkenness?” Sansa asked.

 

“That’s the rumor. And now, he has to slave away at a lowly community college, living in shame,” Jon said.

 

Sansa frowned at him for that. “There’s nothing wrong with community college, Jon.”

 

“You’re right,” he gave her a small smile. “So, it’s really that bad?”

 

“I have twelve more weeks of learning about and studying nothing, but Aegon’s stupid Conquest. I’m not going to make it,” Sansa shakes her head, leaning back in the chair and closing her eyes as if just thinking about it had completely exhausted her.

 

Jon smiled again. If his office door wasn’t open, he would have kissed her already.

 

“I can help, if you like,” he offered.

 

Sansa’s eyes snapped open and she sat up. “Could you?” Her face lit up at the idea.

 

He smiled a little and gave a nod. “I could. Wednesdays are my light day. When is your last class?”

 

“My Valyrian Languages class gets out at two.”

 

Jon paused for a moment, thinking his words in his mind over, not wanting it to come out the wrong way. “I live about three blocks from here. Would you…” he swallowed and Sansa was looking at him, waiting. He thought he saw a small smile beginning to spread across her lips. “Would you…” he tried to get it out again.

 

“Jon,” Sansa cut in gently, her smile just a bit more obvious. “May I come and see your flat after my class?”

 

“Yes,” he breathed out and Sansa was now smiling completely, making him smile, too.

 

Now, Jon looks around, making sure he has seen to everything before Sansa’s arrival; which should be any minute now. It’s not like he’s expecting anything to happen between them tonight – perhaps kissing (he’s hoping) – but there’s no harm in wanting his flat to be neat and tidy for his girlfriend to see it for the first time.

 

His girlfriend. Gods. Sansa Stark is his girlfriend; his intelligent and frightfully beautiful girlfriend. She’s not the first he’s ever had, but she’s the first that he can easily imagine himself having something with; having something he hopes lasts for a long time. He’s already crazy for her. Absolutely crazy for her. And he thinks she seems to reciprocate that to him as well. He can hope.

 

He’s never felt this way about a girl before. Ever. It’s like he can hardly wait to see her and when he does see her, he’s wondering how long their time together can be before they have to separate and _then_ he thinks about how long it will be before they see each other again. It’s an endless cycle and it’s both wonderful and maddening and Jon’s never experienced anything like it before.

 

The intercom on the wall buzzes and Jon takes a deep breath, Ghost standing on all four legs, his tail still swishing back and forth, watching as Jon goes to answer it.

 

“Sansa?”

 

 _“Hi,”_ Sansa answers through the speaker and Jon instantly hits the button to unlock the door below.

 

Jon exhales the deep breath he’s just taken and quickly looks around one more time before the knock comes on his door. Turning the locks, he opens it and sees Sansa standing there. He sees the nervousness across her face before her eyes land on him and she smiles, the nervousness instantly disappearing. And seeing her, he smiles.

 

“Hey,” he says and he wonders if she can hear how happy he sounds because he doesn’t think he can hide it.

 

Sansa just keeps smiling and then stepping forward, her textbooks in the crook of one arm, she lifts her other arm and sliding it around his shoulders, she softly presses her lips to his. Jon immediately presses his lips back, his hands lifting to her cheeks, and he notices that when he does, her lips curve into a smile.

 

“I like when you do that,” she murmurs, her cheeks the prettiest shade of pink he’s ever seen. Screw the sky at sunset. Those shades of pink have nothing on Sansa Stark’s blush. “Touch my face when you kiss me,” she then clarifies, her face still so close to his, her nose brushes against his.

 

“I am definitely never forgetting that,” he murmurs in return, one of his thumbs now tracing her jawline.

 

Ghost nudges them both so they can start paying attention to them and Sansa looks down, smiling at the dog.

 

“Hello, Ghost,” Sansa begins scratching and petting him as best as she can with one hand and Jon closes the door behind them all. “Should I take my shoes off?” Sansa asks Jon.

 

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Jon answers. “And I’ll take your coat.”

 

As Jon hangs up Sansa’s coat, she sets her books next to her bag on the floor and then unzips her boots, tugging them off, leaving her in her socks. Jon smiles. He’s in his socks, too. He likes that Sansa seems to plan on staying for a bit of time.

 

“I have a surprise for you,” Sansa tells you, picking up her bag to pull something from it. It’s a stack of paper, clipped together with a black binder clip. “My first eighty pages,” she proudly announces, holding it out with both hands for him to see.

 

Jon’s eyes widen a bit. “Eighty pages already?”

 

“Yep. I started writing a couple of days ago and it’s just flown from me. It’s four chapters so far. I would love if you would read it for me. If you’re interested,” she then quickly adds.

 

“ _If_ I’m interested?” Jon flips through the pages, seeing the black typed text and then looks at her. “I’m going to read it right now.”

 

“Jon,” Sansa laughs, but doesn’t say anything past that. She picks up her bags and books and looks at the small, cozy living room before back to him. “Where can I set up? I don’t need your help quite yet. Right now, we’re on the first chapter, learning of Aegon Targaryen the Man,” she rolls her eyes at that and Jon chuckles. “I have review questions to do and I’m fairly certain I can do those without your assistance.”

 

“If I’m reading, I like to stretch out on the couch,” Jon says. “So, the armchair or the floor at the coffee table is all yours. Or I have a kitchen table-”

 

“No, I want to be near you,” she admits with the pink to her cheeks.

 

Jon can’t help, but smile, but then he wonders why should he help it?

 

Jon hangs back, waiting to see where Sansa will sit and she chooses the armchair. He goes and turns on the lamp on the table next to it so she has plenty of light and she smiles up at him. He leans down and gives her a kiss on her head before he takes her eighty pages and flops down onto the couch, making her giggle. He gives her a smile as he gets himself comfortable, Ghost hopping up to join him as he always does, and she gets comfortable as well, bringing her legs up, tucking them to her side as she opens her textbook with a sigh and uncaps her highlighter.

 

“Let’s get this over with,” she grumbles and Jon grins, unclasping the clip and tossing it onto the coffee table so he can begin his own reading. “Jon,” Sansa then says before he can even read the first word. He turns his head on the pillow to look at her. She looks worried. “It’s historical fiction,” she reminds him.

 

“I know, Sansa,” he gives her a gentle smile. “As long as you don't mention email or iPhones, I think we’ll be fine. Do you think I’m going to be grading this for extreme accuracy?”

 

After a moment, she is able to smile, too. “Force of habit, perhaps? If you _do_ see a mistake – grammar or spelling – _please_ mark it. But… I don’t think you’re my intended audience with the story I’m telling.”

 

Jon keeps smiling. “I have read some historical fiction romances before, you know,” he then informs her.

 

Sansa practically beams now. “Well, forgive me if I don’t _completely_ believe you.”

 

Still smiling, Jon settles his head on the pillow once again and begins reading as Sansa begins studying.

 

He doesn’t know how much time actually passes. Once he begins reading Sansa’s story of Bethany Blackwood, he admits to completely losing himself to it. For Sansa being so unsure of the story and having no previous writing experience except journal entries and school papers, Jon can’t stop reading, turning page after page, losing himself to her words.

 

It’s incredible. The way she describes everything – the different characters’ looks and clothes and food and even the clouds in the sky – he can all imagine it perfectly in his mind as if he’s there, seeing it for himself. And the way she writes Bethany, Jon can’t put his finger on it, but he finds himself loving her within just the first couple of pages. There’s something about her that is so familiar to him, but he can’t put his finger on to even begin to explain it.

 

When he finally reaches the end of the eightieth page, the end of the fourth chapter, Jon finally – slowly – puts the pages down. He notes immediately that the sun coming in through the window has changed in the room and he sits up just enough to take his phone from the coffee table to look at the time.

 

Holy shit, he’s been reading for two hours and he hadn’t even realized it.

 

He sits up slowly – not wanting to disturb Ghost who’s passed out at the other end of the couch – and he looks to the armchair. Sansa is no longer reading, though her book is still open, and her highlighter is capped. She’s been watching him and when their eyes meet, she gives him the smallest smile.

 

“Well?” She asks quietly and Jon can hear that she’s actually absolutely terrified of his possible answer.

 

“Sansa…” he carefully straightens the pages and sets the pile on the coffee table. “It’s incredible.”

 

She exhales a breath and her smile is a little easier now though she still seems hesitant. “Truly?”

 

“I can’t even… _how_ did you write this?” He has to know. “The details are incredible. Bethany’s character is incredible. We haven’t even met Harry Rivers yet, but everything already… I already give a very big damn over what happens to Bethany.”

 

Sansa smiles, blushing, and then shakes her head slightly. “I just began writing it and I honestly don’t even remember half of it, to be honest. It’s almost like… I zoned out and when I came to, I had eighty pages.” She looks at him after her confession, as if waiting for him to say something particularly judgmental about it.

 

“I’ve never attempted to write a book before, but if I did, and was writing about something I truly loved and felt passion for, my brain just might take over without necessarily needing me aware,” Jon tells her.

 

“I need to tell you something,” Sansa then says, rather suddenly.

 

Jon can’t be entirely too sure why, but he stiffens at those particular words. There’s something about them – when said in that order in that rushed tone – it’s hard to believe that what Sansa has to tell him is something good. And then, of course, his mind begins to race. Is she ending this already? They’ve barely begun. Has she grown tired of him already? With his friends and the Ouija board, has she decided that she doesn’t want to be a part of his life; as if he has daily Ouija board activities in his life?

 

Or… is she ending this because even with her “new personality”, she realizes that he’s not Harry and Harry is still the bloke she wants?

 

“Alright,” he is able to say, turning on the couch more towards her.

 

Sansa puts her highlighter in her book and closing it, she sets it aside. She seems a mixture of being scared and nervous and Jon begins to feel the same anxiety in his stomach.

 

“When we did the Ouija board and I fainted…” she begins, but then pauses to swallow. She seems to be forcing herself to keep her eyes on him. “Jon, I… I saw something. I saw _things_. I don’t know why or how, but when I fainted, I was able to go back and see Bethany Blackwood. I really saw her, Jon. She’s… _I’m_ … we look exactly alike.”

 

“Who looks exactly alike?” Jon asks even as he’s trying to process everything she is telling him.

 

It makes no sense, of course. People don’t go back in time. Yes, it’s a nice little fantasy and as a history teacher, he would love if it was possible, but it’s not. It’s just not possible or realistic or _logical_ to think that a person actually can go back in time in any sense of that theory.

 

He stares at Sansa, suddenly not sure if he even wants her to continue.

 

He feels like a dick for thinking it, but he has to wonder when her next appointment with her doctor is. Perhaps something is happening – inside – that might require an MRI to pick up. Or maybe he should talk to Gilly and Val. They might be able to know something. He doesn’t believe in any of this stuff, but Sansa clearly does.

 

“Me and Bethany,” Sansa answers. “I look exactly like Bethany Blackwood.”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon's flat through Sansa's eyes in the next chapter as well as Jon trying to make sense of Sansa's confession to him. If he only he knew that there are still a couple more she has to make to him. THANK YOU so, so much to those reading, commenting and being on board with this story I'm telling.


	21. Learning a Little Bit More

…

 

 **Twenty-One.** Learning a Little Bit More.

Silence. Silence as loud as a nuclear bomb detonating.

Sansa shoots to her feet so quickly, the world around her turns completely on its axis and she closes her eyes, feeling herself turn with it. But then she feels warm, stable hands on her elbows, keeping her in place on her feet and opening her eyes once more, she sees that Jon has shot to his feet as well to steady her.

 

And looking into his face, seeing his soft, dark eyes looking back at her – obvious with their concern, Sansa can’t help, but feel tears build up in hers. She begins shaking her head.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I said anything,” she tries to say as quickly as she can. He must think she’s absolutely insane now. She has visions of him calling her parents and doctors and looking up articles on what to do when you think the girl you’re dating is actually certifiable.

 

“I’m not,” Jon says quietly and once he’s certain she’s not going to topple over, he slowly lifts his hands and places them on either side of her head, framing her face, his eyes never leaving hers and as he looks at her so intensely, Sansa knows she’s not able to look anywhere else even if she wants to. “I’m not,” he says again.

 

“I know it doesn’t make any sense, but… I know what I saw,” Sansa says and begins to shake her head again.

 

She nearly tells him about Harry Rivers as well and how Jon looks just like _him_ , but she can’t possibly tell him that. Perhaps that’s something she’ll never speak of out loud. She’s already said too much. Even if he claims he doesn’t think she’s crazy – and actually, now that she thinks about it, Jon hasn’t said anything in regards to her mental stability – she starts talking about how she saw Bethany Blackwood and Harry Rivers and it was actually Sansa and Jon, well… he might fit her for the straitjacket himself.

 

Jon’s hands are still on the sides of her head and she can’t help, but stiffen when his fingers, through her hair, can feel _it_. Jon stills as well and Sansa looks to his face, to see what his reaction will be. He doesn’t look scared or disgusted though. He keeps looking at her, his eyes as soft as ever, and she wonders if Jon somehow knows that that’s exactly the reaction she needed from him.

 

“After the accident and I was rushed to the hospital, my brain was swelling,” Sansa begins to tell him. She lifts her hand to his and then slowly, she guides it so he can feel the long scar, hidden beneath her hair, running along the side of her skull. “The swelling was so severe, I had to be rushed into surgery and they had to remove a portion of my skull for a bit to allow the brain to expand without damaging the tissue and so there wouldn’t be increased pressure inside my skull.”

 

She can’t help, but shiver – not just from actually talking about the surgery with someone who’s not a family member, but because Jon is the very first person other than her parents – or Rickon that one time when he had been too curious – that has touched the scar.

 

Jon misinterprets and begins to lower his hand, his eyes never leaving hers. Sansa wants to lift his hand again so he can resume touching it, but she won’t blame him if he’s actually feeling his stomach churning just at the idea of her scar and what had happened for her to get it.

 

“And you know what part of all of that that _really_ bothered me? They shaved my hair away. My hair has always been one of my favorite things about me and they had to shave it away,” Sansa says and is able to produce a small smile. In the hospital, her first breakdown hadn’t been over the crash or losing Harry or waking up from brain surgery. It was feeling her hair buzzed from her head. All of those other breakdowns came after that.

 

Her breath stops in her lungs again when Jon – still not saying anything – moves in as close to her as he can and then she _really_ stops breathing when Jon kisses one bit of the scar through her hair. She exhales a shuddering breath and her hands lift to his chest, her fingers curling into the cotton of his tee-shirt, and one of Jon’s arm slips around her waist, holding her to him, as his other hand cups the back of her head. His lips touch her scar again and her fingers tighten their hold.

 

“You’re incredible,” he then murmurs into her hair. “The first day I saw you… I didn’t know how I knew, but I looked at you for the first time and knew you were incredible.”

 

Sansa closes her eyes and leans into him, resting her forehead on his shoulder, feeling so very weak on her feet all of a sudden, and Jon’s arm tightens around her waist.

 

She can’t help, but wonder if Jon thought that because Harry Rivers probably thought the same thing about Bethany Blackwood when he saw her for the first time. Is Jon truly Harry Rivers though? Is she truly Bethany Blackwood? No, she’s Sansa Stark and Jon is Jon Snow. They aren’t other people. They are themselves and the idea of _not_ being Sansa Stark – for her entire life, actually being someone else from centuries before – would be as traumatizing as hanging upside down in a car with her boyfriend dead next to her.

 

Jon’s head turns and he kisses the side of her head again; her scar almost feeling as if it’s trembling.

 

She loves this man. She’s _in love_ with this man and realizing it – right that very second – she lifts her head from his shoulder and Jon pulls his head back so they can look into one another’s faces. She knows she needs to tell him what she has just realized. If losing Harry has taught her _anything_ , it’s that absolutely anything can happen and the person in front of her right now might not be in front of her tomorrow.

 

And yet, she’s scared. She can’t help it. Being in love is a big enough deal and what if she tells him and Jon doesn’t say anything in return? She feels she has every reason in the world to be scared.

 

So she doesn’t tell him that she’s in love with him. Instead, she leans in and kisses him softly on the lips. Jon’s hands, again, frame her head as he matches her soft pressure with softness of his own. She wonders what he would do if she told him that she wants to kiss him for the rest of the night. She would expect herself to be surprised or even scared at the realization that if she and Jon were to go further, but instead, she would be completely okay with that. She _wants_ that to happen.

 

Maybe that comes with realizing that she’s completely in love with this man.

 

She waits for the stab of guilt in her chest – loving another man who isn’t Harry – but she doesn’t feel anything except a tightness in her stomach and a fluttering in her throat. She doesn’t even wonder if Harry’s there, watching her kiss and embrace another man.

 

“Mmmm,” Sansa moans softly once their lips part. Opening her eyes, she sees that Jon is smiling. She smiles, too, and leans in, brushing her nose against his. “Thank you for not immediately wanting to have me committed,” she then says.

 

Jon’s lips twitch in a smile. “Do I believe in things like that? No. But, I remember that sketch of Bethany Blackwood we saw in that book about Harry Rivers and how much you two... Do I believe in reincarnation or kindred spirits? No.”

 

Sansa smiles. “That was a rather emphatic no,” she teases.

 

“I was saving your ears from a resounding _fuck no_ ,” he clarifies and he smiles wider when she laughs at that. “I’m a realist. I always have been.My brain just won’t let me believe in things like that,” he continues, his fingers lifting to touch a strand of her hair hanging at her cheek. “But maybe it’s better this way. I don’t believe in things like that, but you do and together…” his words trail off, not finishing.

 

 _We fit_ , Sansa can envision the words hanging in the air, over their heads.

 

Sansa leans in and gives him another soft kiss. “I’m hungry,” she then admits with a blush on her cheeks.

 

“I suppose I do need to feed you,” Jon smiles and with one more kiss, he steps away – slowly, to make sure Sansa is firm on her feet – and he then heads into the kitchen.

 

Sansa feels the warmth of her cheeks and the upturn of her lips; it feels like she’s unable to stop smiling. She had told Jon about seeing herself as Bethany Blackwood and he’s still here and she’s still here and it doesn’t look like he’s calling her parents to discuss scheduling an MRI for her.

 

She very much likes Jon’s flat. The living room and kitchen is one open space and there is a hallway to the left that leads, she assumes, to the bedroom and bathroom. His couch is gray and the armchair she had studied in is matching. Everything is in shades of grey, black and a dark blue and just being in this room, it’s small, but it’s lived in and cozy and Sansa loves it very much already.

 

His desk is against the far wall with two bookcases flanking on either side. And like the bookcases in his office at the college, these are filled to the absolute hilt as well with books. His desk has his laptop as well as neat piles of folders and papers. There are also a few framed photos that Sansa bends down to take a closer look.

 

The first is of Jon, Sam and Grenn, looking right and properly intoxicated, all wearing tuxedos in various stages of undress. Sam is sitting at a table with a flushed face and Jon and Grenn stand behind him, Jon’s arms around Grenn’s shoulders and his other hand on Sam’s shoulder and Grenn is holding a beer bottle, pointing to the camera. It must be Sam’s wedding, Sansa guesses with a fond smile on her face.

 

The second picture is Jon, Sam, Gilly, Maddie and Grenn all standing together with a baby in Jon’s arms. It must be Little Sam’s christening. Sansa looks at this picture with the same smile, unable to help, but think that Jon Snow looks very handsome with a baby in his arms.

 

Sansa wonders if she will be in a picture with Jon and his friends someday. She can’t help, but hope. She wonders if Jon would frame that picture and put it out in the open like these.

 

The third picture is of Jon in a black graduation cap and gown with a woman and an older couple standing with him. The woman with her arm around his shoulders looks like him with black curly hair and same dark eyes. This must be his mother. And the older couple, Sansa assumes that they’re grandparents. Sansa admits that while Jon has met and spent time with her family, Sansa doesn’t know much of anything about his.

 

“So, this is what my paltry stocked kitchen can offer,” Jon leaves the kitchen to come to where she is looking over his bachelor’s degree from White Harbor, his teaching certificate and his Master’s degree – also from White Harbor – framed and hanging on the wall. “I can make us spaghetti or chicken nuggets or cereal. I really need to go shopping. Or I have a wonderful collection of take-away menus.”

 

Sansa smiles. “Spaghetti sounds wonderful. I didn’t know you had your Master’s degree already,” she then says. “I know to teach, you have to get it eventually, but… did you earn it right after your bachelor’s?” She wonders. She knows he’s not that much older than her; just a couple of years.

 

“Yes,” Jon nods, glancing to the degrees before back to her. “My grandparents helped with the tuition. I stayed in White Harbor another year, after graduation and I was accepted into their grad school. Studied my ass off, and year-round, and earned my masters a year later.”

 

“That’s incredible,” she says, her voice hushed as she looks at him.

 

Jon shrugs, his turn for his cheeks to turn a little pink at her praise. “I just love history. It was never a big deal to me to study my ass off.”

 

Sansa glances back to his degrees. “After high school… I was accepted into college. Harry and I were going to the same one, but I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to study. I liked things, but nothing I felt truly passionate about. I just had no idea what I was going to with myself.”

 

She notes that when she’s with Jon and she talks about Harry, it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it used to. She wishes she could understand completely _why_ it doesn’t hurt as much. She thinks of hers and Harry’s conversation; of the way he had seen their relationship going and the way it would have ended.

 

Is she beginning to understand, herself, that hers and Harry’s relationship would have ended anyway? Either in a car crash or going away to college, it would have always ended.

 

Sansa doesn’t know if she likes thinking about that, to be honest. Maybe not yet anyway.

 

She slowly looks to him again and Jon gives her a small smile, stepping closer and with his hand sliding onto her cheek, he gave her a kiss.

 

“And now look at you. History student extraordinaire and eighty pages in of writing a truly amazing history book,” he says and Sansa breaks into a smile – almost a shy one.

 

She leans in, resting her forehead to his and her hand resting lightly on the side of his neck. They stay there for a prolonged moment before Sansa pulls herself slowly away and glances to the picture on his desk.

 

“Is that your family?” She asks. She’s in love with this man and it’s time she know everything about him.

 

“It is,” he confirms with a nod, his hand falling away from her cheek as he looks to the picture as well. “My mom, Lyanna, Grandma Morgana and Grandpa Gareth. My grandpa was born and raised near Long Lake and that’s where my mom is from, too. When I was born, we lived there with my grandparents for a few years so I guess you can say I’m from Long Lake, too. And now, we all live in Winterfell.”

 

“And your grandma? Where is she from?”

 

Sansa notes, in the picture, that Jon’s mom and grandpa have the look of a Northerner, but his grandma, not as much; not at all. She obviously isn’t originally from the North even if she has lived here for years now.

 

“She’s originally from Red Fork in-”

 

Sansa gasps. She can’t help it. Her eyes are unable to stop from widening a bit as she looks at Jon in front of her. Jon from the North. Harry Rivers from the Riverlands. Jon Snow who looks just like Harry Rivers.

 

“-in the Riverlands,” Sansa finishes for him in a whisper.

 

Jon, her _very_ Northern looking boyfriend, has blood from the Riverlands in his veins; just like she does. Just like Bethany Blackwood and Harry Rivers did.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely love this chapter and I hope you enjoyed it, too. THANK YOU to those reading and enjoying this whole story. I have no idea how long it's going to be. There's quite a bit I still want to write. In the next chapter, Sansa will meet Jon's mom, grandma and grandpa.


	22. A Twisted Tree

…

 

 **Twenty-Two.** A Twisted Tree.

“Maddie, you’re killing me,” Grenn frowns at his girlfriend as she enters the kitchen with another ticket.

 

“Yes, please remind me why a busy restaurant is a _bad_ thing. I keep forgetting your reasoning,” Maddie says as she clips the ticket to the wall in front of Grenn so he can work on it along with the others already there.

 

He sighs heavily. “You got to let me bitch. If I don’t bitch about this, I’ll find something else to bitch about and I guarantee you, it will be something even more ridiculous to bitch about than a busy food place.”

 

Maddie just sighs at that and doesn’t say anything. Grenn can be slightly weird when it comes to _Grenn’s Fish Takeaway_. He doesn’t consider it a restaurant and he doesn’t consider himself a cook; certainly not a chef. Their place is a little place with just enough room for five or so tables. It’s not meant to be a sit-down place; most people just coming in to order and leaving with their food to eat someplace else. Grenn calls it _Takeaway_ for a reason. And he doesn’t think he does anything special. He seasons his fish, dumps them in a deep fryer and wraps the orders up in newspaper. It’s not exactly brain surgery in Grenn’s opinion.

 

His friends have tried to understand why he doesn’t take pride in what he does. He owns and runs a successful restaurant – and that’s what it is no matter what Grenn says – and that’s no easy feat in and of itself. But it’s also his fish. He doesn’t _just_ have fish and chips. Well, yes, that’s his menu, but it’s more than that. He buys his fish fresh from the market every morning and then spends the next few hours in the small kitchen, cleaning and filleting each and every piece before opening and he cleans and cuts potatoes for homemade chips. He could just as easily buy it all frozen like a lot of the other fish-and-chip places around, but he doesn’t do that.

 

Neither Sam or Jon know how to clean fish, but Grenn still doesn’t see anything special about him doing it.

 

Maddie lifts herself on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Take care with this one. This is Jon’s mom and grandparents’ order,” she taps the ticket she’s just brought.

 

“Jon with them?” Grenn asks, pulling an order from the fryers and dumping the fish and chips into the waiting newspaper to be packed into the brown paper bag for takeout.

 

“No, but if he shows up, I’ll send him back to you,” she promises.

 

“Thanks, babe,” Grenn says, already getting to work on the next ticket after he crossed the ticket he’s just finished off and stabbed it over the waiting nail so he knows he’s done it.

 

Leaving the kitchen, Maddie steps back into their small dining room. Every table is full and there’s queue at the ordering counter. She would like to add more tables for dine-ins, but she admits that she is a bit afraid of bringing it up with Grenn. It isn’t as if he doesn’t listen to her when she voices an opinion, but he gets so particular in regards to this place. He won’t even call it a restaurant, for goodness sakes.

 

With a smile, she approaches Jon’s family. “I just gave your ticket to Grenn and he has promised that he won’t burn it _too_ badly,” she jokes.

 

“That’s very sweet of him,” Lyanna laughs.

 

“Business seems to be doing amazing,” Gareth, Jon’s grandpa, comments as he looks around at the steady crowd before back to Maddie.

 

“It is,” she agrees and is unable to do so without smiling.

 

She can’t help it. She knows how absolutely risky the restaurant business and opening and owning one’s own can be. But when she was going to college in White Harbor and met Grenn, working in one of the dorm’s cafeteria, and they began talking and then flirting and then dating, Grenn had cooked her dinner one night. She doesn’t care what he insists. Grenn is a cook – and an _amazing_ one. He is always complaining about their running schedule, but _he_ is the reason they have a running schedule; him and his amazing cooking.

 

They’ve been together for quite a few years now and in that time, they have gotten to know everything about one another, so Maddie knows, deep down, she supposes Grenn’s outlooks on so many things comes down to one thing. His father. Aren’t so many issues people have in this world usually about the father or the mother? She doesn’t know everything – Grenn will never tell her, she knows – but his father abandoned Grenn when he was just three; his mother already dead. And growing up, bouncing from one group home to another, he sat and wondered why he wasn’t good enough for his father to keep.

 

Deep down, Maddie knows he still thinks that. He’ll never call this success of his a restaurant or himself anything more than some guy in the back who fries fish.

 

The door opens, signaling the arrival of more customers, and Maddie glances to see how many. She smiles the instant she sees that it’s Jon and Sansa, both of them laughing, nearly tripped as if they’ve drank too much, but no. They are just laughing. And the sight of it makes Maddie smile.

 

“Is that Jon?” His grandma, Morgana, asks and his grandparents and mother all turn their heads to look.

 

Jon and Sansa don’t seem to be seeing anyone except one another though.

 

“It was not that bad,” Jon insists.

 

“Jon,” Sansa says, still laughing, holding onto one of his arms with both of her hands. “We just sat through a two-hour documentary on Valyrian steel.”

 

“I bought you popcorn,” Jon reminds her with a grin, his eyes on nothing, but her.

 

“But no Jujyfruits,” she teases him still.

 

“And I told you. Theater candy is an extreme rip-off. We will go to the drugstore after dinner and I will gladly buy you as many boxes of Jujyfruits as you want,” Jon says and though he sounds so serious, his smile is anything but, and his words make Sansa laugh more.

 

“Your silly logical brain,” she beams and Jon’s smile splits his face as his arms circle her waist and holds her tight and close to his chest.

 

Maddie smiles, watching. Their friends all tease Jon for being a broody boy and seeing him like this now, Maddie can’t help, but be happy. And she likes Sansa very much. They all do. Gilly’s already planning a “just girls” afternoon and they can all only hope that Sansa and Jon are together for a long time. Looking at them now, Maddie thinks she will have to tell Grenn, Sam and Gilly that it seems they don’t have to worry.

 

Maddie has known Jon since college and she’s _never_ seen him smile as wide as he’s smiling now and he’s looking at nothing except Sansa’s face and smiling because of her.

 

“Jon!” Lyanna suddenly calls out and Maddie has to keep her lips pursed together to keep from bursting out with laughter at Jon’s facial expression when he sees that his mom and grandparents are both here, all three grinning at him and waving him – and Sansa – over to join them.

 

…

 

“Maddie…” Grenn sighs as she enters the kitchen again with another ticket.

 

 _Grenn’s Fish Takeaway_ started to get too busy, they had to hire someone to help them work the register at the order counter. Those tickets are fed automatically into the kitchen. But Maddie sometimes helps, taking orders and bringing those tickets into the kitchen.

 

Maddie sees that he has six fresh tickets on the wall to get to, but she can’t help, but nearly skip to him. “This is Jon and Sansa’s ticket. They didn’t know his family was already here.”

 

It takes a moment for Grenn to understand and when he does, a slow smile begins to split across his face. “That stupid bastard. Sam and I have been telling him that he had to introduce Sansa to his mom and soon.”

 

“Well,” Maddie can’t stop smiling. Like any friend, their group loves when one has mucked something up. “I think he’s introducing Sansa now.”

 

Grenn is grinning now, too, and with Maddie, they open the door to the kitchen just enough to poke their heads out to peek into the dining room.

 

…

 

Subtlety has never been his mom’s strength and once he introduces Sansa to his mom, Grandpa Gareth and Grandma Morgana, they make room for the couple at the table. Jon wishes he could sit next to Sansa, but he finds himself sitting next to his mom and Sansa is sitting across from him, between his grandparents. She looks nervous, but her smile – however small – is genuine and she looks beautiful.

 

“Sansa, how did you and Jon meet?” Lyanna asks the young woman with her own smile and obvious curiosity.

 

Sansa’s cheeks turn a shade of pink and Jon can’t help, but stiffen. What is his mother going to think? His mom, who at eighteen, was seduced by her teacher, got her pregnant and then abandoned her? Is she going to look at Jon with a raised eyebrow and a frown and call him a lecherous man just like his father was?

 

“I was a student in his Introduction to Westeros History course,” Sansa begins and Jon waits for his mom to stiffen next to him, but no reaction like that comes. Lyanna just looks to her with curiosity. “And then, he was helping me with a bit of the history I’m interested in and he’s been my sounding board with that and…” she trails off, unsure of how to finish, and she smiles at Jon shyly from across the table. Jon smiles back. 

 

“What sort of history are you interested in?” Gareth asks from her side.

 

Sansa looks to the older man with her smile in place. She had been nervous when they first approached the table and Jon made the introduction, but now, Jon can see her beginning to relax more. “I’m actually writing a book on Bethany Blackwood of House Blackwood from the third century.”

 

Gareth thinks on that for a moment. “I don’t recognize that name,” he then admits. “Did she do anything special?” He asks innocently and Jon stiffens just slightly.

 

When it comes to Bethany Blackwood, he knows that Sansa does not take the young woman lightly.

 

But Sansa just shrugs her shoulders and smiles. “She lived,” is her answer and it makes Garth smile, too. Sansa then turns to look at his grandma. “I was actually hoping to talk with you, Mrs. Snow.”

 

“Me?” Morgana can’t help, but have her eyes grow a bit larger at that.

 

“Yes,” Sansa nods and Jon can sense her eagerness now.

 

It makes him smile and from the corner of his eye, he can see Lyanna looking at him. He doesn’t try to squash his smile though as he looks at Sansa. Why should he? His mom’s not a stupid lady and she’s met a few of his girlfriends before – none of them _nearly_ as serious as this with Sansa is – but she and Jon have always had a close relationship. She can probably already figure out for herself that Sansa means a great deal to her son.

 

Maybe that’s why she didn’t stiffen when Sansa told his family how they had met. Maybe, seeing how much Jon likes this woman sitting across from them, it separates him already entirely from the man who seduced his mom. It’s not really just a mere like though, Jon knows that. What he feels for Sansa, it far transcends like. He’s full blown in love with her. Maybe that’s obvious to his mom, too, and maybe she knows that if he and Sansa ever found themselves in the same position his mom found herself in with her teacher all of those years ago, the last thing Jon would ever think of doing is abandoning Sansa.

 

Not that he and Sansa are _anywhere_ near the point with one another where her falling pregnant would be a cause of concern; or hope.

 

 _Slow the hell down, Snow_ , he warns himself.

 

“My mom’s family is Tully from the Riverlands and Jon has told me that you’re from Red Forks,” Sansa says.

 

“Here we are!” Maddie happily announces, bringing their fish and chips on a tray. They’ve all ordered the fried cod with chips except for Lyanna who always orders the fried haddock. All have gotten Cokes as well. Before leaving, hugging the tray to her chest, Maddie bends down to Jon’s ear. “How’s it going?” She whispers to him.

 

“Tell Grenn to stick his head back in the kitchen before he burns everything,” Jon whispers back.

 

Maddie smiles at that and leaves to return to kitchen; probably to tell Grenn just that.

 

“I am,” Morgana is nodding, smiling at Sansa. “Just a family from the Riverlands, but from what I remember of my family history, we were loyal to House Tully many generations ago.”

 

Sansa smiles at that. “Do you know anything about House Bracken? I know the Riverlands are so vast and there are so many families from that area, but I was hoping there was a chance. In my book, I have a theory and I believe Bethany Blackwood and Harry Rivers of House Bracken were involved in a secret romance.”

 

As always, when she talks about Bethany, Harry and her book, Jon can hear the growing excitement in Sansa’s voice. It makes him smile, too. He wonders – not for the first time – if he was to ever write a book, what would the topic be? He loves history. There’s no doubt in that. But he has read so many names; countless names. And not a single one has sparked something in him like Bethany Blackwood has sparked Sansa.

 

He can almost be envious of that. To love history so, so much and yet, unable to find _one_ thing he loves more than any other.

 

Morgana smiles then and pauses to cut and eat a piece of her cod. “Actually, it’s quite a coincidence that you mention the Bastard of Bracken.”

 

Sansa is sipping Coke through her straw and her eyes widen; probably that Morgana knows Harry Rivers’ nickname in the first place. He was some Bastard from the third century. Unless they know extensive history of House Bracken, Jon understands her surprise. Like Bethany, Harry isn’t exactly widely popular.

 

Jon leans into the table a little bit. “Why?” He asks his grandma.

 

He loves his grandparents, but he knows that he doesn’t know as much about them as he should. He was too young of a boy when he and his mom moved away and began living all over the North. By the time they settled in Winterfell and his grandparents moved from Long Neck to live with them, Jon was in high school and busy with friends, dating, sports and studying hard enough to get into a good college. Talking with his grandparents just wasn’t high on the list – unfortunately.

 

He loves his grandparents and as a lover of history, he knows that there is so much he needs to know from them about themselves and both sides of his family tree before it’s too late.

 

“Well, and I don’t know how true this is,” Morgana is quick to add. “But… somewhere on our tree, many, many, _many_ years back, it’s been said that we have some Bracken blood in us. Harry Rivers got a little too close and personal with one of our family’s daughters and there was a baby as a result.”

 

Jon is thankful he’s not eating or drinking anything because he’s fairly certain he would have started to choke. He looks to Sansa to see if she has the same reaction, but if anything, she looks sad; as if she’s been deflated.

 

…

 

Gareth turns his back to the wind so he can light his cigarette before turning back to Jon, smiling as he exhales his first cloud of smoke and hands the lighter for Jon to light his own.

 

Jon can’t help, but look through the front window of Grenn’s to see Sansa, his mom and his grandma still sitting at their table, talking. Knowing his mom, she’s absolutely interrogating Sansa, but Sansa is nodding and giving small smiles so Jon knows he doesn’t have to swoop in and rescue her. Yet.

 

He doesn’t smoke – the majority of it done in college, but then slowly waning himself off. Jon only smokes when he’s with his grandpa and the women in Gareth’s life has called him a bad influenced more than once because of it. Gareth has been a smoker for years and no patch or gum can get him to quit so his wife and daughter won’t have success where others have failed.

 

“She’s very pretty,” Gareth comments.

 

Jon nods, tilting his head up towards the sky to exhale.

 

“Scary smart, too,” Gareth adds and Jon grins now, looking to his grandpa.

 

“Do you think mom likes her?”

 

Gareth pauses to take his own drag. “You know how your mom is. When it comes to you, she’s like a wolf protecting her pup. So…” he looks to the window. “Considering she’s not doing that thing where she casually traces the knife while speaking with Sansa, that’s a good thing, I would say.”

 

Jon looks to the window as well. “Grenn only has plasticware,” he comments.

 

“Plastic knife, real knife, it’s all the same point, Jon,” Gareth replies matter-of-factly.

 

“Mom’s never liked any of my girlfriends,” Jon says. Gareth smiles at that and doesn’t say anything. Jon looks to his grandpa, frowning. “What?” He has to ask.

 

Gareth just smiles and shakes his head.

 

“Grandpa,” Jon sighs.

 

“Your mom’s never liked any of your girlfriends because _you_ haven’t liked any of your girlfriends.” Jon opens his mouth to argue that and Gareth continues on before he can. “Oh, you’ve liked them well enough, but you’ve never been _crazy_ about any of them. And don’t argue that,” Gareth says, pointing a finger at Jon before Jon can open his mouth to do just that.

 

There would be no point in arguing though, Jon knows. It is the truth. He’s liked the girls he has dated in the past. If he didn’t like them, he wouldn’t have dated them. But being crazy about them or liking them madly? No, Jon supposes he can’t argue with his grandpa on that.

 

“So, it’s obvious I crazy like Sansa?” Jon asks and Gareth snorts.

 

“You don’t like her, Jon,” Gareth tells his grandson with a smile as if Jon already doesn’t know that. “You love her.”

 

Jon takes a drag of his cigarette and knows that there would be no point in arguing that either. Why argue with the absolute truth?

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to everyone reading and commenting. I have changed filters and now, anyone can comment (I was getting comments from this one particular reader that would make me dread opening comments, but I've decided to be brave again).
> 
> I'm a bit nervous for the next chapter. It's going to be a flashback to Bethany (Sansa) and Harry (Jon). I hope it turns out the way it looks in my head. And Jon and Sansa's next research road trip is fast approaching. Thank you again!


	23. A Moment from the Past

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/27464164@N07/48082091886/in/dateposted/)

…

 

**Twenty-Three. A Moment from the Past.**

She couldn’t stop crying and she couldn’t catch her breath. It was a vast land, but that didn’t stop both news and gossip traveling rapidly and the latest bit had reached Bethany’s ears that late afternoon. For the past few hours after, she had been unable to do anything except cry. She had tried sewing. Few women in the Riverlands were better with the needle as Bethany Blackwood – as everyone said – and usually, sewing was one of those things that brought Bethany true joy. Whenever her father held a feast, the eligible men fawned over Bethany as the women fawned over the latest dress Bethany had sewn for herself.

 

But this evening, the tears had been too thick and had blurred her vision and every line she stitched – or attempted to stitch – had been crooked and had to be taken out again.

 

Finally, she set her sewing aside to just ready herself for bed. She had dismissed her maid right after the evening meal, wanting to be alone, feigning a headache; though there hadn’t been much embellishment. She truly did have the worst headache.

 

How could he? How could he say such things to her and _promise_ such things to her only for him to still be continuing his various dalliances behind her back?

 

She truly was an idiot. She knew who he was when they met and yet, she allowed herself to hand her heart over to him, expecting him to take great care with it. She deserved this pain.

 

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she scolded herself over and over again as she changed and crawled into her bed even as she cried into her pillow. Her heart felt as if there was a great split down the direct center of it and she didn’t know how to make it go away. She laid there and couldn’t imagine it ever going away.

 

Why did he do this to her? Was it because he was a Bracken and she was a Blackwood and growing up, hearing their fathers and families speak so wretchedly of the other, he thought it was his House duty to get a Blackwood girl to fall in love with him and then shatter her completely?

 

She cried and thought of the bag she had packed, hiding away in the chest at the foot of her bed. She would unpack it tomorrow and no one in her household or family would be any the wiser to what her intent had been. Her two traveling dresses and cloak, her jewelry, her hair brush, her sewing needles and threads – it would all be returned to their proper places and no one would ever know that Bethany Blackwood and Harry Rivers had made plans together; plans that would take them so far away from her. Harry had talked about Essos and Bethany had been scared and yet, the slightest trembling of excitement had coursed through her at the idea.

 

In Essos, they would be free and they would be together. Their families wouldn’t be able to find them. Essos was so vast and those in Westeros only ventured to the lands if they were in the trading business. She and Harry would be able to disappear completely and be together to live their life; _together_.

 

Bethany had thought that that was the plan and it had been such a beautiful plan, but apparently, Harry hadn’t shared the same sentiment and seemed like he wanted to lay with a few more women; one of those women who was now pregnant with his child.

 

Just thinking it in her mind, more tears began to form and she wept, the ache in her chest only worsening.

 

She hated him. She hated him as a Blackwood hated a Bracken.

 

She should have always hated him. She then understood her parents, her brothers and everyone else in House Blackwood with their animosity towards the other House. A worse lot of people she never met.

 

When night reached its darkest point, Bethany still wasn’t sleeping, but she was still crying and didn’t hear the tapping from outside immediately. After only she paused in her weeping to wipe at her cheeks did she hear it and she stiffened the instant she did.

 

She laid there, telling herself – _yelling_ at herself – to ignore it; to leave him out there and pretend he wasn’t there at all. But… despite what he had done to her, Bethany admitted that she would hate to see his body riddled with arrows if those men on guard tonight were to spot the Bracken bastard outside of their Lady’s window.

 

Pushing back the furs and rising from the bed, she crossed the room and opened the window so violently, Harry nearly topped into the room. She didn’t care though and as he righted himself, she closed the window behind him, keeping her back turned towards him. She never wanted to look at him again.

 

But then he spoke.

 

“Bethany.” All he said was her name and it sounded as if he was barely able to get it out, choking on his own tears, thick in his throat.

 

Bethany felt anger sweep over her within seconds. How dare he! How dare he come here and weep and act as if he had every right in the world to cry!

 

Despite what she said she wouldn’t do, Bethany turned to look at the man she had loved these past few months. She saw him for the first time at a feast her father had hosted and invited House Bracken in good faith. It wasn’t rare for one House to invite the other to something or other. Attempts were made by either House to squash the anger that had developed between the two and though it was possible for things to cool for a bit, something or other always set the other off and the Houses resumed their hostility towards one another.

 

The first time Bethany saw Harry Rivers, the bastard of Lord Jonos Bracken – that was what was said though the man had never claimed or denied him – he was dancing with his littlest sister, Alysanne Bracken. Bethany could still remember how handsome he had looked with his black curls pulled back from his face and his eyes crinkling at the corners as he grinned as his sister said something. And then Harry had lifted his eyes and seemed to land directly on Bethany and from that moment, she was lost to him.

 

She looked at him now and in the firelight, she could see that his eyes were red and his cheeks were wet. Instead of comforting him though, Bethany stepped to him and began to strike his chest, hitting him over and over again as she began crying uncontrollably once again, and Harry did nothing, but stand and take her abuse.

 

“You ruined it, Harry. You ruined it,” she said again and again through her tears. She didn’t know how long she hit him or how long she cried. She just knew that her breath was short from the exertion and then she practically collapsed into his chest, exhausted, still crying.

 

Harry held her. “I didn’t. I swear to you I didn’t.”

 

Bethany pulled her head back and looked at him through her sore, swollen eyes. “You did. Everyone is talking about it. The Bastard of Bracken is going to have his own bastard.”

 

Harry flinched, but then he shook his head and stared his eyes into hers. “I would never do that to you. Bethany, I swear.” His hands came to a rest on her cheeks as she began to shake her head. “I swear to you. I haven’t laid with another woman since I first met you. This girl, I’ve never done anything with her, I swear.”

 

“But she named you, Harry. She told her father that you were the father,” Bethany sniffled. “It was so easy for her to name you and _no one_ be surprised.”

 

“I know. I know that was how I used to be, but since you… Bethany, I have been faithful to you these past few months. You are the only one I want. We’re going to get married and we’re going to Essos. I love you.”

 

His words were so strong even if his throat was raw from his own emotions and Bethany closed her eyes, shaking her head still with tears trailing down her cheeks.

 

“Please, love,” he whispered now as he brushed strands of her red hair back from her face. “Please say that we’re still going to Essos.”

 

Bethany swallowed as she looked to his face. More than anything, she wanted to go to Essos with this man; marry this man, love this man, be with this man. But the crack down the middle of heart felt as wide as any chasm and she didn’t know if it could ever be closed again.

 

She believed him… didn’t she? If he said he hadn’t laid with another woman and that the baby wasn’t his, she should believe him. Harry might have had a reputation, but he wasn’t like that anymore. She knew he wasn’t.

 

He loved her just as deeply as she loved him… didn’t he?

 

She was terrified though and she had never been in love with another man before Harry, but she imagined love to be frightening even if there was complete trust between a couple. Now, looking at Harry, she still loved him – she didn’t doubt her feelings for him; unable to snuff them out as quickly as blowing out a candle – but her heart was split and she didn’t know if she believed him no matter what she tried to think otherwise.

 

She was terrified. The trust... it was gone. 

 

She swallowed again and then gave a small nod. “Of course we’re going to Essos,” she whispered.

 

Harry exhaled a deep breath and leaned in, kissing her, wrapping her in his arms. And as Bethany kissed him in return, the broken pieces of her heart all felt the same relief that he had believed her.

 

…

 

Sansa’s eyes flutter open and she feels an excruciating pain in her chest and her cheeks wet with tears that she had been crying in her sleep. She lays there for a moment, on her back, blinking up at the ceiling, remembering every single second of the dream she had just had.

 

Was it a dream? It had to have been. What else would it have been? She had taken Jon’s grandma’s words from earlier about Harry and a possible baby from another woman and her mind had spun them into an entire story. That’s all it was. A very overactive imagination because she’s been so consumed with this couple lately, _of course_ she is going to have dreams about them.

 

Her chest hurts so much though; so much that Sansa lifts a hand to rub a hand against her sternum.

 

She can hear Lady snoring at the foot of the bed and right now, Sansa needs her dog. “Lady,” Sansa whispers through the darkness and within a second, Lady lifted her head, looking towards Sansa. She then gets up and trudges up the bed before dropping heavily down next to her. Sansa smiles and rolls towards her, hugging an arm around Lady’s neck as the dog is already returning to sleep. “Good girl,” she whispers.

 

The dream had felt so real. The tears on her cheeks and the pain in her chest is certainly real. As she slept, Sansa had been able to feel Bethany’s pain; she can still feel it. Is that what really happened between them? They were going to run away to Essos together, but then a rumor of Harry’s possible infidelity and impending baby reached Bethany’s ears. She became heartbroken and scared and didn’t trust him anymore and she wound up not going to Essos with him.

 

_“But I loved him.”_

 

Bethany’s last words echo in Sansa’s mind now. Suddenly, her last words make so much sense if the vivid dream is anything to go by. 

 

Suddenly, the person she wants to talk to more than anyone is Jon, but lifting her head from her pillow to look over Lady’s body to the clock on the bedside table, Sansa sees that it’s just a little past three. Two minutes past, to be exact. She must have woken from her dream exactly at three.

 

Her mind is racing now and it’s far too early, but Sansa also knows that she won’t be getting anymore sleep tonight and she will have to wait until it is a respectable hour before calling Jon. She really just wants to hear his voice. She doesn’t think she’ll tell him about her dream – though she knows that she can and Jon will listen – but she just wants to talk with him. She has found that she enjoys talking with Jon just to hear his voice and to hear what he has to say.

 

At fifteen minutes after, Sansa presses her nose to Lady’s soft fur. “Would you like to come downstairs with me?” She whispers and Lady immediately jumps down from the bed, giving herself a quick shake.

 

Sansa smiles, pulling herself from the bed. Her cheeks are dry of tears now and the ache in her chest has returned to a dull throb. Dull throbs, she’s used to. It seems like the side of her head, over her long scar, is always a dull throb no matter whether she has an actual headache or not.

 

Taking her laptop and hugging it, as well as her notebook, to her chest, Sansa leaves the bedroom, Lady at her side, both walking quietly so not to wake her parents or Rickon. She goes into the kitchen, still not turning on any of the lights and making sure the security pad on the wall next to the back door was disarmed, she opened the door so Lady could go out. Sansa jumps a bit when Shaggydog suddenly appears, pushing himself outside as well. Sansa smiles and gives them a few minutes before opening the door once again and both dogs returning inside, bringing in the cold with them.

 

The door securely locked and the alarm turned back on, Sansa goes into the family room, both dogs following her and as she gets herself comfortable on the couch with her laptop and a blanket, Lady curls up in front of her on the floor and Shaggydog jumps up onto the loveseat, dropping himself down and promptly passing out.

 

As she had done a couple of months earlier for her first research trip to Cairns, Sansa begins planning another. Bethany is still the focus, but it’s time she learn more about Harry Rivers as well. He, after all, is a major part of Bethany’s life; enough to have known her and drawn a portrait of her; enough for one of Bethany’s brothers to die while fighting Harry. And then there’s that dream…

 

House Bracken is from the village of Stone Hedge in the Riverlands, near Red Fork of the Trident, where Jon’s grandmother comes from. So it _is_ possible that Grandma Morgana had a very far-in-the-past relative who had a baby with Harry Rivers and though extremely diluted now, Jon would have a few drops of Bracken in him.

 

She wonders what happened to the baby. She wonders who the baby grew to be and what family branches of the tree sprouted from it. She has started the book Jon had bought for her - _The Women of Harry Rivers, the Bastard of Bracken_ – and she really needs to get more into it. It seems like it’s very important to her own story concerning Bethany and the more she knows about Harry and all of his women and possible children, it will only add to her own story she’s writing.

 

Sansa can still see them both so vividly in her mind from the dream. As always, Bethany had looked just like her and Harry… Harry had been Jon. It was Jon’s chest Sansa was hitting and Jon’s hands holding her face as she cried and it was then Jon kissing her after she promised that they were still going together to Essos.

 

She needs to go to Stone Hedge and see what – if anything – about Harry she can find out. Will it be easy or is he like Bethany Blackwood, who has just slipped away into history with no one caring to find anything out?

 

Should she ask Jon to come with her? Definitely. And she imagines that he’ll be quite excited to take another history research trip with her. Should she ask Robb and Winnie to come with her?

 

… no, she doesn’t think so. Maybe she and Jon can go; just the two of them.

 

“Time for some hanky-panky with Professor Snow?”

 

Sansa frowns, looking to Harry as he sits next to her on the couch with a grin. “Don’t be crude,” she tells him and Harry just keeps on grinning. “But I think that yes, it might be time. Only if Jon wants to,” she’s then quick to add.

 

Harry lets out a laugh and Sansa notices that Lady’s ear flicks in response though the dog remains asleep. This isn’t the first time Lady has had some kind of reaction – no matter how small of one – whenever Sansa imagines Harry in the room with her. She has read that dogs are perceptual to such things as ghosts or spirits or whatever a person calls them.

 

“I don’t think you’ll have to twist his arm too badly when you drop the hint. I’m sure it will be more comfortable for you with Jon,” Harry then comments.

 

Sansa looks to her first boyfriend with a soft smile. “Our times together weren’t that uncomfortable for me.”

 

Harry snorts. “We had no place to go except the backseat of my car. Something I am man enough to admit and that is we were fumbling high schoolers in a backseat who had no idea what we were doing.”

 

Sansa smiles, her eyes going back to her computer screen. She doesn’t say anything to that. Harry’s right though she knows better than to tell him such a thing. Sex with Harry _had_ been uncomfortable. They had been young and each other’s firsts and they had never been able to find a comfortable position in the backseat that had worked for the both of them. Three times together before he died and they were just then starting to maybe figure it out.

 

Her cheeks blush as her mind returns, once again, to thoughts of Jon.

 

She wonders if Jon knows what he’s doing when it comes to having a woman in his bed – not that she wants to think of _that_ particular image – she wonders and if he would mind showing her. She wonders if she might find out when they go to Stone Hedge together.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading. I hope this chapter didn't bring the story to a grinding halt with the flashback. In the next chapter, we will see a slight moment of jealous Sansa in regards to her Professor Snow.


	24. Adulthood

…

 

 **Twenty-Four.** Adulthood.

Walking along the hallway of the history department’s third floor, Sansa feels her body humming. It seems to always do that now when she knows she’s going to be seeing Jon. Whenever she knows she’s going to see him, she becomes so excited, wishing she could see him that much sooner.

 

She can’t help, but wonder if it’s the same for him when he knows he’s going to be seeing her.

 

Sansa likes to think so. She sees the way he looks at her and how he smiles at her and how he kisses her. She doesn’t doubt that Jon Snow likes her very much so him being excited to see her isn’t hard to imagine either. She’s been so tempted to talk to her mom or Winnie about this. Both are adults; married. This is the first adult relationship Sansa has been in and she just wants to talk about adult feelings because it’s obviously different from feelings high schoolers experience; or perhaps they’re the same feelings – just far more intense.

 

As she nears Jon’s office, Sansa is already smiling in anticipation, but when she hears laughter floating through his open office door, her steps begin to slow. It’s Jon’s laugh, but he’s not alone. There’s another laugh joined in with his; a _female_ laugh. Sansa’s steps come to a complete stop right outside of his door. It is his office hours right now. He’s obviously with a student. Sansa doesn’t want to interrupt. Maybe she’ll come back. Or should she wait? If she waits, will he think that she’s lurking in the hallway, spying on him?

 

“You’re so difficult,” the female then says and Sansa recognizes her voice at once.

 

Val.

 

Sansa’s throat grows thick as she does her best to swallow the cotton ball now lodged in it. Val – the beautiful yoga instructor who has an adult job and who lives on her own like an adult and not with her parents.

 

Sansa frowns as she looks to the messenger bag on her shoulder and the textbooks hugged to her chest. Even in her twenties, she is still very much the schoolgirl who lives with her parents. What could Jon - college professor with his masters degree - possibly see in her when he has an actual adult woman in his office right now who more than likely doesn’t think she’s gone in the past or talks with her dead first boyfriend?

 

Gilly had tried to set up Val and Jon, Sansa knows, so obviously, Gilly had thought that Val and Jon would get on well enough. Silently to herself, does Gilly still think that? Now that she’s met Sansa, does she still think that Val and Jon would make the better couple? Gilly had been so nice to her – all of Jon’s friends have been nothing, but nice and welcoming to her when they met – but what do they really think of her? What if they like her as a person, but just not as a person for Jon?

 

She then thinks of his mom and his grandparents. All three of them had been so nice to her and Sansa had enjoyed – once getting over the bout of nerves of being thrust into meeting them so unexpectedly – talking and getting to know the people who had raised – and shaped – Jon into the man she met and fell in love with, but Sansa can’t help, but wonder if they possibly think she’s not the right kind of girl for their son and grandson.

 

After all, what is she doing with herself? She’s in college, focusing on history and writing a book - but what is she going to do afterwards? Is she going to be a history teacher like Jon? No, she doesn’t think that will be the way for her to go, but what else can she possibly do with a history degree if not teach? She doubts anything will come from her book. So few writers can actually make a living off of just writing and though she loves her subject and is passionate about her (to put it lightly), who’s to say anyone else will care?

 

She can’t live with her parents forever, she knows that, but still living with good days and then such bad days, Sansa doesn’t know how she’ll ever be able to move out. She can’t expect Jon to take care of her. What if that’s what his family and friends think she’s doing if they ever find out about her accident and the effects it still has on her day-to-day life? What if they think she’s just an unhealthy girl who has found a handsome guy with a good job to take care of her?

 

She doesn’t expect that from Jon and she never will.

 

But how does Jon feel? Jon who smiles when she’s near and kisses her and truly listens to her when she talks. Jon who comes to her parents’ house for dinners and asks questions to get to know her and doesn’t seem to be acting as if he’s on the lookout for any other girl besides her.

 

Taking a deep breath, Sansa makes a decision and she forces her steps to finish their path to Jon’s door. If she is expecting Jon and Val to be tangled salaciously on his sofa – and Sansa knows Jon would never do that to her, but still, the thought pops into her mind for just a second – she sees that Jon is behind his desk and Val is sitting in the other chair on the opposite side. The instant she appears in the office doorway, Jon lifts his eyes and sees that it’s her. He’s already smiling, but when he sees Sansa, his smile seems to quadruple in size.

 

“Sansa,” he says as he stands and Val turns in her chair, smiling at her as well.

 

“Hi, Sansa!” Val greets her as friendly as anyone and Sansa feels guilt for thinking that this woman and her boyfriend were doing something together.

 

“Hi,” Sansa smiles at then both. Jon comes around as she sets her books down on the sofa and when he leans into her, Sansa happily meets his lips with hers. He does it so naturally – greets her with a kiss – it makes Sansa’s heart flutter.

 

“Sansa, I’m glad you’re here,” Val says and holds out a bright blue flier for Sansa to take, which she does. “Would you be interested in making a pledge for me? It’s next month and all proceeds go to research for the MS Foundation.”

 

Sansa looks at the flier advertising the 10K Run for the MS Research Foundation of Westeros.

 

“I would love to make a pledge,” Sansa smiles and Val’s smile grows. “And I’ll talk to my parents, too.”

 

“You are awesome. Thank you! My sister, Dalla, has recently been diagnosed with it and me and my brother-in-law are going to be running in it. Grenn and Maddie will be running, too, and Sam and Gilly promised that they’ll sign up, too. It’s walk/run so they’ll be walking with Little Sam’s stroller,” Val says and she seems to say it all in one breath, but Sansa listens easily enough.

 

“That sounds wonderful. Not about your sister, but… the rest of it,” Sansa stumbles and finishes with red cheeks. “Is it too late to register? I would like to be able to walk, if that’s alright.”

 

Val’s eyes light up. “Of course that’s alright! The more, the merrier! Now, talk to your boyfriend.”

 

Jon smirks and goes to return to sit behind his desk. “I told you I’d give you a pledge, Val. A small one. What else do you want from me?” He asks.

 

“I want you to run!” Val exclaims as Sansa lowers herself on the sofa. “Please. Run with me and help support research for MS. Unless…. You support MS.”

 

“Yes, Val. You’ve got me. I’m actually pro-MS,” Jon says with another smirk and head shake.

 

“Then why won’t you run with us? Or walk with your girlfriend?” Val exclaims, her voice demanding an answer, and Sansa admits that she wants one, too. She leans forward, resting her arms on her knees, looking to Jon with an amused smile.

 

Jon looks at her and then at Val and then he sighs heavily, leaning back in his chair and looking to the ceiling. “How do I know it’s actually for MS?” He then asks.

 

“What?” Val asks, almost bursting the word out.

 

Jon turns his chair towards her and lowers his head to look at her. “How do I know that this marathon and this pledge money are actually going to be used towards MS research? How do I know that the people setting this marathon up aren’t going to pocket most of it for their time spent?”

 

Val opens her mouth to respond, but is obviously too stunned to think of a response.

 

“I’m serious. I’m going to pledge $10 to you to run your 10k. Okay. Now, let’s say that the organizers decide, you know what? Do you know how much of mine time was spent, putting this all together? _I_ deserve something, too. And _they_ take $5 of my $10 for themselves. So now, the MS research is cut in half.”

 

Sansa has to purse her lips together to keep from smiling outright. She won’t say it out loud to Val, but Jon _does_ make a rather valid point. Who’s to know where their money is truly going when donating to one cause or another? So much of it has to be done in blind faith and hopes that the person in charge is a good person.

 

“I don’t… I can’t even…” Val tries to think of something to say as she shakes her head, but she can’t seem to form a complete sentence as she stands up, gathering her things. “I just… Sansa, thank you so much for your pledge and for talking to your parents. You can sign up online.” She looks to Jon one more time and then with one more head shake and without another word, Val leaves his office.

 

Jon turns his chair to look at Sansa. “So, you’re going to break up with me now,” he states.

 

Sansa allows her smile to finally break through. “Why am I going to break up with you?”

 

“Because of my brain,” he says as if that’s all the explanation she needs.

 

Sansa laughs this time. “I think it’s a wonderful brain,” she informs him matter-of-factly.

 

Jon looks at her, smiling a bit wider so his eyes get those ridiculously attractive crinkles in the corners. Sansa has made it her personal goal to always get him to make the crinkles.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Definitely,” she gives a nod.

 

She watches as Jon stands up and goes to the door, closing it with a quick click in the frame. Sansa can feel her heart beginning to race; absolutely pounding in her chest, but she knows it’s not from nerves and certainly not from fear. It’s from the excitement and absolute anticipation of what her Mr. Snow is planning in his office, especially when he pushes the lock in the handle.

 

He turns back to look at her and Sansa’s not sure why, but she unzips her boots, pulling them off, never taking her eyes off of him as she does. Jon steps towards her, never taking his eyes off of her, and just as she tilts her head up, Jon lowers his and their lips meets. She’s not sure if she leans back herself or its Jon crawling over her that guides her backwards. Either way, Sansa finds herself feeling the soft sofa cushions beneath her back as Jon’s mouth never leaves hers. His hair is down that day, making it easy for her to sink her fingers into his curls, keeping his lips connected to hers just in case he thinks, for even a second, to pull them away from her.

 

She likes the feel of his body on top of hers, she is quick to learn. It’s not exactly the kind of thought she wants on her mind as this exact moment, but she notes that Jon feels different than how she remembers Harry to feel when he had been on top of her. That had been in the backseat, of course, or when they were making out in the grass in the park after school. Harry was taller than Jon is, but Jon is _solid_. Through his jeans and sweater, she can feel his muscles on top of her body and she can feel her underwear dampen at just the _idea_ of his muscles.

 

Sansa moans softly as Jon’s lips slowly pull from hers, but she doesn’t protest as he keeps those lips close, sliding them down to the side of her neck. Jon also has a beard. A wonderful beard that gently scratches her skin and it makes her turn her head, signaling to him that she only wants more. Harry hadn’t had a beard. He had always been so smooth and up until the first time she saw Jon in her first class with him, Sansa had never imagined to herself that she would like a man with a beard.

 

She knows now. It’s not like. It’s love. She absolutely loves a man with a beard.

 

Jon snickers against her skin. “Lucky for me,” he murmurs.

 

“Did I say that out loud?” Sansa asks and she knows she should feel a little embarrassed by it, but honestly, with every bone in her body having completely melted, it seems like being embarrassed is just beyond her right now.

 

“You did, love,” Jon nods against her neck, his lips now planting light kisses. “So, no shaving then?”

 

“Definitely not,” her voice is as stern as she can manage it at this moment and Jon snickers again. “Jon,” she wishes his name as she slowly moves her hands from his curls and runs it down his shoulders and then his arms. Oh, yes. Even through his sweater, she can definitely feel the muscles. These muscles make her _ache_ in a way she hasn’t in so long. “I love you,” she then says in a whisper, almost unable to say it louder than that.

 

Jon’s lips still immediately after the words enter the air and feeling him go still, Sansa goes still as well. She begins to think of how quickly she could say she didn’t mean it or take the words back. Her heart is racing and this time, it _is_ out of fear. She can’t believe she’s just said that. They’re not there yet. It’s only been a couple of months. How can she possibly love him after just a couple of months?

 

What about Harry? She still loves Harry. She swears she does, even if she loves him while not being in love with him anymore. What about… IT’S ONLY BEEN A COUPLE OF MONTHS, she shouts at herself.

 

(Bethany fell in love with Harry Rivers the instant she saw him and he fell in love with her, too), Sansa hears the tiniest voice in the back of her mind.

 

Slowly, Jon lifts his head from her neck to look down at her and Sansa wants to just close her eyes and will the sofa to swallow her up. Instead, though, she forces her eyes to stay open and looking up to him.

 

She’s an adult. She keeps telling herself that; _wants_ everyone else around her to see her as such. Here is a chance to act like an adult. An adult doesn’t just say the love-word and then run away in fear of rejection. An adult bravely says the word to their boyfriend and wait for what he is going to say in response.

 

It’s unbelievable to Sansa though just how absolutely terrifying being an adult is.

 

“Sansa,” Jon breathes her name and Sansa looks at him; able to see _only_ him.

 

His eyes are dark and he’s staring at her as if she’s the only thing he sees, too. No one has ever looked at her like that and she knows that this is the only way she wants to be looked at for the rest of her life.

 

“Jon,” she says his name and his lips twitch at that, but it’s not a complete smile. No, he seems still too busy staring down at her to give any kind of smile bigger than just a twitch.

 

“I love you,” he exhales as if he’s been holding those three words in for so long and finally, speaking them, he’s breathing again.  

 

Sansa breathes, too, and with a hand on the back of Jon’s neck, she gently pulls him down for another kiss.

 

Those three words, Sansa knows, are the best words she’s ever heard in her adult life.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of Sansa's inner monologues in this chapter. I hope you liked it! Thank you very much for reading! Sansa and Jon leave for their road trip back to the Riverlands in the next chapter - after Ned and Robb have a talk with the young man.


	25. On the Road

…

 

 **Twenty-Five.** On the Road.

“You have enough gas?” Ned Stark asks as he walks in a circle around Jon’s car.

 

“Filled the tank completely before coming over,” Jon confirms with a nod.

 

“You have a spare tire in your trunk?” Robb asks next.

 

“I do,” Jon nods once more.

 

He can’t help, but glance towards the house, hoping Sansa comes out to save him. He knows both Ned and Robb Stark fairly well at this point, Jon likes to think, but right now, he’s not just Jon Snow. Right now, he is Jon Snow, Sansa’s boyfriend who is taking her away for the weekend. He understands why her dad and brother both want to interrogate him over the safety of his vehicle and he certainly doesn’t blame them. He just wishes Sansa was out here with him.

 

“Oil changed recently?” Ned takes his turn. “And you are insured, correct?”

 

“Last month and yes,” Jon answers both questions. “I also have never gotten pulled over for speeding or for any other traffic violation,” he informs them both before they can ask.

 

Ned is the one to break first, offering a small smile. “I’m sorry, Jon. We can be a bit… well, Sansa and cars…”

 

“I understand, Mr. Stark,” Jon is swift to say before Ned can finish. The man had always insisted that Jon call him by his first name, but Jon doesn’t know if that still stands since becoming Sansa’s boyfriend and being the man who loves her and is now taking her away for the weekend.

 

In his new position, Jon assumes he is no longer on first-name basis with Sansa’s parents; especially her father until Ned tells him otherwise. So far, Ned has not.

 

“Hopefully, the weather driving there is better than when we all went,” Robb comments, relaxing and leaning back against the hood of the car. “Not only because of her headaches, but who likes driving in the rain?”

 

“I actually loaded Stone Hedge’s weather to my weather app and so far, predictions are for cold and overcast, but no storms in the next few days,” Jon says though he knows that when it’s terribly overcast and the pressure in the air is too tense, that does no favors to Sansa’s head either.

 

When the weather had been less than perfect in Cairns, that hadn’t stopped Sansa. She had been so excited to be there and had been eager to research and learn as much as she can. Jon hopes she has the same weekend in Stone Hedge, learning about House Bracken. It being so close to Red Forks where his grandma grew up, Morgana had given Jon a small list of things in Stone Hedge that he and Sansa might be interested in seeing.

 

Jon can’t help, but think what they’ll do if this weekend’s weather keeps Sansa from doing much of anything. He imagines them having to stay inside in the bed-and-breakfast they have made reservations at and Jon warns himself to _not_ think of anything remotely like that while standing with her dad and brother.

 

It’s damn hard though. He and Sansa are going away for the weekend – just the two of them – and they have told one another they love each other. He’s going to be alone for two days with his beautiful, brilliant girlfriend whom he completely loves. _Of course_ he’s going to be thinking about possible things that might happen.

 

“Jon, I don’t think it’s a secret that we all like you very much,” Ned stands in front of Jon and all thoughts of Sansa – for the moment – vanish from Jon’s mind in fears that Ned will be able to read them. “But Sansa means very much to us. Even if that night hadn’t happened.” The man pauses and Jon doesn’t need him to clarify which night he’s speaking of.

 

Jon also doesn’t need Ned to finish to know what the man needs right now.

 

“I would never hurt Sansa,” he tells both father and brother. It may seem like too simple a statement to make, but Jon knows it’s all he has to say. He doesn’t need to make some great speech about how much he loves and cares for their daughter and sister. Jon thinks it must be fairly obvious by now.

 

And his words are enough – strong and genuine enough – because Ned smiles then and holds out his hand. Jon can’t help, but exhale a deep breath – feeling as if he’s just passed one of the most important tests he’s had to take – and steps forward, shaking Ned’s hand with a small smile.

 

“And I’m still perfecting my brother speech, but don’t worry. It’s coming,” Robb promises with a grin. “What I gave you in your office when we first met was just scratching the surface.”

 

“I’m excited for it,” Jon says genuinely and Ned chuckles as Robb and Jon shake hands as well.

 

The front door opens and all three men turn to see Sansa and Catelyn step from the house, a bag slung onto Sansa’s shoulder and Catelyn is carrying a small cooler.

 

At first, Jon can’t do anything, but stare at Sansa as she comes down the front porch steps, smiling at him. Her long red hair is down that morning, but Jon can see that she’s braided two small braids into the locks and there’s something about the look; it makes him think of an ancient Northern warrior princess. She’s wearing a pair of those skinny jeans that she almost always wears with her red rain coat, the same she had worn in Cairns. She looks casual and beautiful and Jon’s heart beats just a little bit faster at the sight of her.

 

He snaps out of it enough to meet her before she reaches the driveway and takes the bag from her shoulder.

 

“Thank you,” Sansa smiles brightly as if he’s done far more than take her bag for her. “Survived?” She asks him then, her voice lowered to a whisper.

 

Jon smiles, keeping himself from glancing over his shoulder back to her parents and brother in the driveway, knowing that Catelyn is probably asking for an update as well.

 

“If I didn’t, would you have come and rescued me?” Jon asks, still smiling.

 

“Of course,” Sansa then says and her answer is so simple – as if Jon should never think anything otherwise – and he doesn’t care if her family is watching. He leans in and gives her a soft kiss on her lips. When he pulls back, Sansa’s cheeks are pink and her smile, somehow, is even more beautiful.

 

“You all set?” Ned asks once Sansa and Jon join her family in the driveway and Jon goes to set Sansa’s bag in the truck alongside his.

 

“Yep,” Sansa smiles, her excitement clear as it shines in her eyes. She then looks to Jon. “Are we all set?” She then asks him.

 

“We are,” Jon confirms with a smile. “I’ll get her back here, safe and sound, on Sunday evening.”

 

“See that you do,” Ned says though he’s not quite able to hold his frown in place. He pulls Sansa into a fierce hug and kisses her on the head. “Remember. I want to hear about everything when you get back. All the more to get me ready for that resistance of the River Lords movie coming soon.”

 

“I thought you said they were going to mess the whole story up,” Sansa reminds him as she and Robb hug.

 

“Of course they’re going to mess it all up, but I want to make sure that _I_ know every way in which they do.”

 

Catelyn and Sansa share an eye roll before hugging one another and Ned shakes Jon’s hand one more time. Jon is then taken aback – and admittedly has no idea what to do – when Catelyn hugs him as well.

 

“Look after her,” Catelyn whispers in his ear and all Jon can manage to do is nod his head quickly. When the woman steps back, from the corner of his eye, he can see Sansa smiles and it makes him able to smile as well.

 

Sansa waves at her family through her window as Jon reverses from the Stark driveway and then begins heading through their affluent neighborhood towards the front gates, which, when he comes over, he has to stop and give his name to the guard in the posthouse. Both the day guard and night guard are beginning to recognize him now and don’t even stop him before they’re waving him in.

 

Jon won’t admit it, but being waved in – for whatever reason – is a damn good feeling.  

 

“Can we stop somewhere for coffee before we start?” Sansa asks.

 

“No, Sansa,” Jon says as seriously as he can manage, but Sansa laughs anyway. She settles back in her seat and reaches for her notebook from her bag at her feet, spreading it open in her lap. Glancing down to it, watching her turn pages, he sees that every page she turns past is filled with writing. “Is that _the_ notebook?” He asks.

 

“It is,” she smiles. “Any time I have a new idea or another question I want answered, I write it down here. I also have been writing blurbs down when they come to me so I don’t forget them and can figure out the best place for them in the story.”

 

“Can you read me a blurb?” He asks her, glancing to her before back to the road.

 

Sansa hesitates and he’s not necessarily surprised with that. He would have been surprised if she had agreed. She then begins turning pages, skimming through her notes and blurbs already written before she decides on one. She licks her lips with the very tip of her tongue and then turns a bit more in her seat towards him.

 

“You’re not the targeted audience,” she reminds him for certainly not the first time.

 

“You can’t pretend I’m a young woman for just a blurb?” He asks and Sansa laughs at that, shaking her head.

 

“I really can’t,” she replies.

 

Jon pulls into the parking lot of a coffee shop and enters behind the other cars in the drive-thru. “Please?” He looks to her. “Just a blurb. A two-sentence blurb?”

 

“Two sentences?”

 

“Or two pages. Whatever you want to read me.”

 

Sansa smiles at him, leaning the side of her head against the headrest towards him. “If another of your students came to you and told you that they wanted to write a book, would you be as supportive of them as you’ve been of me?” She wonders out loud.

 

“Yes,” Jon nods and he reaches a hand over so his fingers can touch her hand, his thumb brushing along her knuckles. “I would encourage them, but I wouldn’t help them as much,” he admits. “They would be my student. You’re my girlfriend and I love you and of course I’m going to be insane over anything you write.”

 

Sansa doesn’t say anything to that. Instead, she lifts his hand to her lips and kisses it softly. “I love you, too.”

 

Jon wants to lean in and kiss her on the lips now, but they’re next to the speaker and he pulls back so he can manage to pull his wallet from his back pocket. “What’ll it be?” He asks her.

 

Sansa leans forward so she can read the large menu through the windshield. “An iced cocoa mocha latte,” she decides and then smiles, almost laughs, when she sees Jon nearly grimace at that. “What? You know I love mocha coffee very, very much.”

 

“Yes, I know, but I still don’t know how you drink coffees with whipped cream or chocolate drizzle. That’s not coffee. It’s dessert,” Jon states it as if he’s stating any other historical fact in his classes.

 

“Exactly,” Sansa just smiles.

 

When he orders Sansa’s iced cocoa mocha latte, he orders a tall black coffee for himself and he hears Sansa laugh softly to herself over that.

 

As they move up in line, Jon watches as Sansa turns more pages in her notebook.

 

“She was afraid of him. She knew, in her father’s home, there was no one who should have frightened her, feeling safer in no other place than here, but this man with his warm smile and warm words, he did just that. Perhaps it was because this was the first time she had seen him even though she had been hearing his name from her family for, what felt like, years. Seeing him though, everything she had heard about him didn’t seem to be in agreement with the dark gray of his eyes and the way he settled them on her; as if she was the only thing he found…”

 

Sansa trails off from reading and makes a face to herself. She then leans forward, pulling a pen from her bag and begins scratching things out and writing other things down.

 

Jon doesn’t interrupt and at the window, he pays for their drinks, setting both down in the cup holders in the center console and getting his change. Sansa is quiet and Jon keeps quiet, too, not wanting to disrupt her as she works. He heads towards the road that will take them from Winterfell towards the Riverlands. Thankfully, the roads aren’t too congested. Perhaps it’s too cold and dreary for people to be making road trips.

 

Jon finds that this weather is the perfect weather, in his opinion, to be going on a trip with his girlfriend.

 

He smiles to himself as he sips at his large black coffee. He wonders if he’s going to be smiling every time he refers to Sansa – whether in his mind or out loud – as his girlfriend.

 

Sansa suddenly begins speaking again, reading once more, and she immediately has Jon’s attention.

 

“He didn’t look like the other men from the Riverlands; the men her father seemed so set on marrying her to. Harry looked like a man of the further North with his dark hair and dark eyes and Bethany wondered who his mother was. She wondered if Harry knew.”

 

Jon is quiet for a moment as Sansa reads to herself and then, deciding she is done, she caps her pen and puts it away. She then takes her drink from the cup holder, the whipped cream almost melted now, and takes a sip through the black straw.

 

“How do you know that?” He hears himself ask.

 

“Hmmmm?” Sansa turns her head to him, her lips still around the straw.

 

He looks to her once before back to the road, not wanting to keep his eyes from the road for too long and possibly make Sansa nervous with his driving.

 

“What Harry looks like,” Jon clarifies. “I don’t… I mean, did you mean to make him look just like me? Or did you find a sketch of him somewhere?” He looks to her again and Sansa is staring out the windshield.

 

She seems to be thinking over something and whatever she decides, she shakes her head slightly. She looks at him and giving him a small smile, she shrugs her shoulders.

 

“That’s just how I’ve been imagining Harry Rivers when I write him,” she explains.

 

Jon gives her a smile and looking back to the road, he takes another sip of his coffee. He supposes that makes sense. They’re dating and since Sansa looks so much like how Bethany looked, maybe it’s just almost natural for Sansa’s imagination to conjure up Jon’s image when thinking of Harry Rivers, Bethany’s possible love.

 

Actually, that makes perfect sense.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much. Seriously. I love you all who are reading, commenting and loving this story because writing this story just makes me so happy. In the next chapter, Jon and Sansa arrive in Stone Hedge for their research trip and Sansa surprises him with the bed-and-breakfast reservation she's made for them.


	26. Certainty

…

 

**Twenty-Six.** Certainty.

Jon can’t help, but let out a laugh when Sansa directs him to the bed-and-breakfast in Stone Hedge where they will be staying that weekend and he gets his first look at it, the wooden sign swinging in the slight breeze. He then looks to Sansa and she smiles and shrugs, knowing what he’s thinking.

 

“Would you like to know?” She asks a question that doesn’t really need to be asked.

 

“Oh, definitely,” Jon nods.

 

Sansa turns in her seat towards him, the lamp from the post right outside their car shines warmly into the car through the front windshield. “We’ll be able to see them in the daylight, but there are some hills right outside of Stone Hedge and they used to be called Mother’s Teats because… well, you’ll see in the morning.”

 

Jon smiles, looking at her and listening. She loves when she talks history and Jon actually listens. He knows far more than she ever will. She really only knows about the Blackwood and Bracken histories while Jon knows _all_ of Westeros history, all the most minute details of every major event, and yet, when she talks about something, Jon listens, eager to learn from her. She wonders if he has any idea how important he makes her feel.

 

“Barba Bracken was mistress to King Aegon IV Targaryen and when he was visiting Stone Hedge, he renamed them Barba’s Teats on account of his mistress’s… yes,” Sansa smiles, almost laughs, as Jon grins. “Well, after Barba was no longer his mistress and Missy Blackwood had taken her place, Barba was telling people that Missy was flat as a boy.”

 

“Women are vicious,” Jon comments and Sansa laughs.

 

“When Aegon heard how Barba was speaking of his mistress, he renamed the hills Missy’s Teats and granted them to House Blackwood. To this day, the Blackwoods still call the hills Missy’s Teats, and the Brackens still call them…” Sansa gestures towards the bed-and-breakfast sign.

 

“Barba’s Teats,” Jon states with a grin still in place.

 

“Men are so classy,” Sansa says with a good-natured eye roll.

 

“And don’t you forget it, love,” Jon quips and then leans in across the middle console, giving her a quick kiss.

 

Even from a quick kiss, this man can make Sansa’s heart race. She almost feels brave to ask him what he thinks of her breasts, but the bravery lasts for barely a second. She can’t ask him that. Not yet. And _technically_ , Jon hasn’t actually seen her breasts yet. She would very much like to show him though. That will take all of the bravery inside of her possible and she can’t spare even a little of it to ask flirtatious questions.

 

Just as they had arrived in Cairns, they have arrived in Stone Hedge when it’s dark already and past dinnertime. From the cooler Catelyn packed for them, they were able to eat sandwiches and share a bag of potato chips in the car. And just like Cairns, Stone Hedge is a small village with rushing water of creeks nearby and a quietness of the countryside that Sansa finds comfort in.

 

She loves Winterfell. Winterfell is her home and she always imagined herself living there or another city. But, her new personality has let her know that that’s not the way for her anymore. This is what she loves now. Small, quiet and quaint villages in the countryside. If she is ever able to live on her own, she hadn’t known that she loved writing, but now, it’s the only thing she wants to do and if she’s able to do so, she easily sees herself living in a place like this with Lady, writing and going for walks and saying hello to people she pass because everyone knows everyone in villages like this.

 

She wonders if Jon wants to stay in Winterfell forever.

 

Of course he does. He has a good job there at the college. Why would he give up a good job to move somewhere so far away from his mother and grandparents?

 

And Sansa is jumping ahead so far into the future, she forces herself to slam on the breaks immediately.

 

“Do you have a headache?” Jon asks in a quiet voice, his hand lifting to tenderly tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing along the line of her jaw.

 

Sansa’s heart skips a beat and she shakes her head, smiling so he knows she’s telling the truth. “I was just thinking of a warm bed and hot chocolate.”

 

Jon smiles, too. “Well, let’s hope that Barba’s Teats has all of that and more.”

 

Sansa laughs again and Jon gives her one more kiss before they both get out from the car. After hours of driving, Jon grunts as he stretches and Sansa sends a text to her parents, letting them know that she and Jon have gotten to Stone Hedge safe and sound and she’ll call them tomorrow morning. At the trunk, Jon lifts her bag and Sansa takes it from her hands before he can carry it for her.

 

“You have your own to carry,” she tells him because she knows he’s about to protest.

 

Jon easily swings his gym bag strap onto his shoulder and then, before she’s able to put up more of a fight, Jon takes the bag from her shoulder onto his. “Yes, yes, I know that you’re strong and can handle a five pound bag on your own, but you’re emasculating me. Please don’t emasculate me, love.”

 

Sansa does her best not to, but she can’t help, but laugh at his ridiculousness and Jon gives her a grin and a wink; or rather, his poor attempt at a wink, which only makes her laugh more. She walks towards the door of the inn with Jon behind her, the beep of the car locking and the alarm setting echoing in the quiet night air.

 

Inside Barba’s Teats Bed-and-Breakfast, it is warm and smells of cinnamon. It’s also mostly decorated in dark woods, reds and golds – the House Bracken colors. Sansa goes to the front desk and hits the small bell. Her stomach is tightening. She’s not sure how Jon is going to react to this. Will he be alright with it? Happy? Or will he insist that he get his own room for the weekend?

 

A young man comes in from the back office behind the front desk with an unlit cigarette dangling from his bottom lip. “Sansa Stark?” He guesses.

 

“That’s me,” she smiles.

 

“Perfect timing,” he wakes the computer up and begins tapping on the keys with his two index fingers. “Was just about to go out for a smoke. Promised my grandpa I’d stick around until you got checked in.”

 

“Are we it for the night?” Sansa asks, handing over her credit card.

 

“It for the weekend. Kind of an off time to be traveling. No festivals this weekend,” the man replies, swiping the card and then tapping some more. “Alright. Sansa Stark. Two nights. One room with the queen bed.”

 

Sansa doesn’t dare look at Jon next to her as the man reads off her reservation. She holds her breath, waiting for Jon to speak up and protest, but he stays silent at her side.

 

“That’s it,” Sansa gives the man a small smile and nod.

 

“Sign that,” the man prints off a receipt and slides it towards her with a pen. He then passes a key to Jon. “Up the stairs, first door on the left. Breakfast starts at six and goes until nine, but since you’re the only ones here this weekend, just call down in the morning. My grandma is the cook and she wants to make sure your breakfast is fresh and hot when you’re ready for it.”

 

“Thank you so much,” Sansa says.

 

“Welcome to Stone Hedge,” the man says with the barest of smiles and then, with his cigarette, he steps out from behind the desk, walks past them and heads out the front door.

 

Alone once more, Sansa finally turns herself towards Jon. He’s already looking at her. She tries to think of something to say, but all words – as well as her mind – are failing her and she can’t think of an explanation to give him other that she wanted them to share a room this weekend.

 

“Ready?” Jon asks before she can think of anything to say.

 

With that one question, Sansa feels her heart returning to its normal pace and her stomach loosens. Just like that. She is even able to give Jon a smile and Jon gives a small smile in return.

 

“Ready,” she confirms with a nod and he hands her the key.

 

Up the flight of stairs to the first door on the left, Sansa unlocks it and quickly flips up the switch on the wall so they have light and Jon follows her inside. Sansa is the one to close the door with a quiet click and after a moment, she then turns the locks. Turning around, she sees Jon is setting their bags on the bench at the foot of the _one_ bed and he is now looking around _their_ room for the weekend.

 

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out before stopping herself and Jon looks at her. “I shouldn’t have… I assumed.”

 

“Assumed that I would want to share a bed with you?” Jon clarifies. Sansa nods. “Safe assumption, I would say. I was already trying to think of a way to come and visit you before bedtime,” he then admits.

 

“Really?” Sansa asks and she almost breathes the word.

 

Jon’s lips twitch in a smile as he slowly walks towards her. Sansa remains standing at the door, waiting for him, and when he’s close enough, she lifts her hands, sliding them over his shoulders as his hands take hold of her waist, pulling her in close and their lips meet at the same time.

 

She moans almost instantaneous and feels herself sag against him. She thought they would take things slow – perhaps spend this weekend just sleeping and getting more comfortable with one another – but now that they’re here and the bed is _right there_ and Jon’s lips are on hers, taking things slow isn’t exactly what she wants to do at this precise moment.

 

It feels as if Jon is kissing her and doing his very best to suck all of the oxygen right from her lungs. He’s a starved man, kissing her again and again, hardly letting either of them breathe. Sansa doesn’t mind though as one of her arms circles and clings around his shoulders as the other grips the back of his head, her fingers as quickly as they can undoing the tie so his knot can loosen and his curls can be free. She wants to hold these curls tonight.

 

Jon’s knees are the ones to hit the bed first, but before he can sit down, Sansa gently pushes him to his back so she is on top of him, her knees straddling his waist. She can feel him through his jeans and she can’t stop herself from rubbing herself against him.

 

“Gods, Sansa,” Jon is the one to finally rip his lips away, nearly sounding as if he’s whining. “Are you sure?”

 

“Yes.”

 

She doesn’t hesitate or once she gives her answer, pause to think it through again. This is what she wants. _Jon_ is who she wants and she doesn’t see a point in waiting if they both want it. They love one another. Sansa is so in love with this man and she knows that he loves her just as much. She doesn’t want to wait. Not with this.

 

She knows how short life can be. If she can be with Jon, she’s going to be with Jon.

 

“Are you sure?” Sansa asks him in return.

 

Jon stares up at her. He lifts his hands to hold her hair back from her face. “I love you,” he says, his eyes on her and no one has ever looked at her like Jon does. She knows no one ever will either.

 

“I love you, too.”

 

At her response, Jon lifts his head from the bed and fuses his lips to hers once more, slowly turning them over so she’s the one on her back now and he’s the on top. Sansa already knows this, but she confirms it to herself again. She very much likes the feel of Jon’s body on top of hers.

 

He is moving slowly – as if to still give her a chance to stop them – but Sansa doesn’t want to go slow. They can go slow their second time. Right now, she just wants him; and as soon as she can possibly have him.

 

She is the one to unbuckle his belt and begin to unbutton the flannel shirt he’s wearing. She shoves that off his shoulders and Jon tears it from his arms as Sansa is already pushing up the black tee-shirt he’s wearing underneath. Jon seems to finally get the message and he pushes up her sweater, Sansa sitting up enough for him to pull it off over her head and once she gets his jeans unbuttoned and the zipper lowered, Jon gives her a swift kiss before he pushes himself off both her and the bed so he can get rid of his boots and jeans.

 

Sansa unclasps her bra, tossing it away and then begins work on her own jeans. She then remembers her boots. She sits up to take them off, but stops when she gets her first good look at Jon, standing there in a pair of black boxer briefs, pulling a condom package from his wallet.

 

Oh my Gods, she knew Jon had muscles. She can always feel them, but now, seeing them, she can’t think of anything else. His body… his arms and his abs… he’s like a marble statue. He’s beautiful.

 

As she stares at him, Jon stands there, staring at her. She feels herself flush. It’s been a very long time since she’s been remotely close to this for anyone – either naked or half so. Jon’s eyes are dark and he doesn’t even seem to be breathing as he looks at her. She’s almost tempted to lift her arms and cross them over her bare breasts, but she stops before she can. She’s been brave up to this moment and she doesn’t want to turn back.

 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers and he still hasn’t taken his eyes off of her.

 

“So are you,” Sansa breathes. She can still hardly believe that _this_ man is the one who loves her and who is going to be inside of her very shortly. The thoughts are make her tingle already.

 

Jon smiles a little at that and then steps to her, setting the condom down on the bed next to her. He then sinks to his knees on the floor in front of her. The breath stops in Sansa’s chest as she watches him unzip her boots and pulls them off, along with her socks, and she then helps him push her jeans down over her hips and he pulls them down her thighs and off her legs. She’s only in her underwear now – a pair of white cotton ones, as far from a sexy pair of underwear as she can get, but Jon looks at them and his eyes are still so dark; as if he’s never seen anything sexier than white cotton.

 

His fingers brush over her knees and up her thighs and Sansa shivers in response, her thighs parting wider on their own accord, silently inviting him for more. She’s never had this done to her, but she knows exactly what he’s going to do. She is almost shaking already. Would he really want to do that to her? Her mind begins racing, wondering how clean she is down there.

 

Jon keeps his eyes on her as his fingers curl into the waistband. “May I?” He asks her softly.

 

Sansa lifts her hips enough to push her underwear down and then Jon guides it down her legs the rest of the way. She is now completely naked before him and Jon’s hands return to her thighs, rubbing them there, his eyes roving over her body, until they meet her eyes again. She can’t help, but wonder how many naked women he has seen before. She knows what her number is of past partners. One. What is Jon’s number?

 

“I love you so much,” he then tells her with so much strength in his soft voice.

 

That’s all Sansa needs to hear or know right then – and ever – and she leans in, putting her hands on his cheeks and her lips on his in a kiss.

 

Jon doesn’t tell her what to do. She does it on her own. She lies back on the bed – the mattress beneath her so much softer than a car’s backseat – and she gasps as she feels Jon parting her thighs just a little wider and then feels his warm breath exhaling right onto her. She’s never had someone’s face so close to this part of her and she closes her eyes, wanting to feel embarrassed and yet, she’s nearly trembling with anticipation.

 

If Jon didn’t want to do this, he certainly wouldn’t be doing this.

 

She gasps sharply the moment she feels his tongue. It shoots through her entire body in an electrical shock and her back bows from the bed. She gasps again and then moans out when his tongue lingers and she hears – _feels_ – his moan against her. His beard scratches her thighs and there’s his mouth and tongue and he adds in his fingers and it’s all too much. Too, too much and yet, not nearly enough. Her fingers grip his curls, thankful that she has pulled them from the knot, and he grunts as she pulls on them, but he doesn’t stop his ministrations and he doesn’t tell her to stop pulling.

 

“Jon!” Sansa shouts out, her body nearly folding in half as his mouth moves relentlessly. 

 

In the back of her mind, she suddenly feels relieved that they are the only guests in the bed-and-breakfast that weekend. She just hopes the owners can’t hear and if they can, they will act tomorrow morning as if they can’t.

 

“Mmmm, Sansa,” Jon moans against her and it sounds so obscene and yet, Sansa can feel herself get even wetter from it. Jon can feel it, too, if his moan is any indication. “I’ve tasted you before,” he then says, hardly lifting his mouth to do so, but Sansa can understand him perfectly. He sounds almost confused, but he isn’t stopping. It is almost as if he has had a taste of her, he isn’t able to stop. “You’re so familiar. I’ve tasted you before.”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Research trip in Stone Hedge continues in the next chapter.


	27. More to the Story

…

 

 **Twenty-Seven.** More to the Story.

Jon has always been an early riser. He has always been the sort to be very trusting of his body and whenever his body chooses to wake up, he doesn’t fight it, believing his body knows when he’s gotten enough sleep.

 

But this morning, when his eyes begin to flutter open and his brain is already more than half the way of being completely awake, Jon wants to groan. There’s no way he’s fully rested. Not after the night he had last night. Turning his head on the pillow to look at the green-glowing numbers of the digital clock, he sees that it’s not even five yet and after driving all day and then making love to Sansa – twice – Jon has to wonder if his body knows what the hell it’s doing right now.

 

Beside him, Sansa is sleeping deeply – just as he should be – and doesn’t even stir when Jon shifts behind her. Jon doesn’t mean to smile, proud of himself, but it would seem that Sansa is thoroughly wiped out and he is going to take complete credit for that.

 

With her back to him, lying on her side, Jon lays on his side behind her, molding his body to hers. They’re both naked under the sheets and thick quilt and Jon wraps his arms around her, holding her tight and close. He closes his eyes and presses it into her hair. He doesn’t want to let her go. He knows they’re here in Stone Hedge this weekend to get some research done for Sansa’s book, but honestly, he wants to stay right here for the next two days; clothing definitely optional.

 

Being inside of Sansa and tasting her as he ate her, he has _never_ experienced anything like that before. Last night was the first time they had come together and yet… there had been no awkwardness between them that is usually between two people, having sex together for the first time, both trying to figure out what the other likes. Last night, Jon had just _known_. He knew where to touch her and how to touch her and already, it felt like he had laid with Sansa a thousand times before last night.

 

He doesn’t understand it, but Jon also isn’t going to try and understand it or question it. Why question something that was absolutely perfect?

 

Jon has read love stories. Westeros History has had a few good ones throughout the centuries, but Jon admits that he’s read them and studied them because he has had to for classes or papers and exams. He never put much thought in the love stories once the classes moved onto another piece to study. He’s had girlfriends before, but as his Grandpa Gareth reminded him, he’s never been in love before.

 

Until now.

 

Now, Jon is beginning to completely understand why men start and fight in wars for the women they love.

 

Jon already knows that he’d do fucking anything if it meant doing it for Sansa.

 

“Jon,” Sansa murmurs then, far more asleep than awake, and she shifts against him. Jon feels himself immediately at attention – both from her voice and her body moving against his. “Go to sleep,” she mumbles.

 

Jon smiles and closes his eyes, his nose still pressed to the back of her head. “I can’t,” he tells her softly. “I think I’m too wired.”

 

“Mmmmm, well, I’m not,” she says to that, still mumbling, and Jon’s smile only widens as his arm tightens its hold around her, keeping their bodies firmly molded together. She wiggles herself against him, attempting at getting herself comfortable, but her bum is pressed right into his groin and Jon growls into her hair.

 

“Remember what I said last night?” Jon asks, his lips to her ear now.

 

“Are you suggesting that the village wouldn’t have a drugstore open at this hour?” Sansa asks.

 

He’s not able to see her face – the room still too dark – but he can hear the smile in her tone and it makes him smile, too. Gods, he loves being able to do that – make her smile – and if he can do that for the rest of his life, it will be a life well-spent, in his opinion.

 

The rest of his life. He’s been thinking about that more and more; how easy it is to think about such manners in long terms. Especially when those long term manners involve Sansa Stark. He very much wants everything with her. He feels like it’s the only possible option for him; to have her and build an entire life with her. He can only hope that Sansa is on the same page as him and wants those things, too. Gods, he hopes she wants the same things he wants and the first time he’s been in love won’t end in absolute heartbreak.

 

He listens as Sansa’s breathing evens out again and he knows that she’s dropped back into sleep. Jon keeps his arm around her and his nose to her hair. He doesn’t want to let her go. He just wants to lay there and listen to her as she sleeps, peaceful in his arms. He likes to think that she’s sleeping so undisturbed because of him.  

 

Slowly, the room begins to become a bit lighter – the sun rising on the other side of the drawn window shades – and Jon can make out shapes and the faintest reds of Sansa’s hair. Birds begin to chirp, greeting the new day, and Sansa begins to shift once more.

 

“Mmmmm,” she hums through her pursed lips, stretching her back off his chest.

 

Jon leans in and kisses the side of her throat, listening to her hum again, and his body begins to stir once more. He loosens his arm when she begins to move and she positions herself to lay on her other side, now facing him. Her eyes are still closed, but there is a small smile pulling at her lips, and it makes Jon smile, too. One of his hands lift to the back of her head and he meets her lips with his in a soft kiss.

 

Sansa’s eyes flutter open and her smile remains on her face when she looks to his face. Jon inches just a little bit closer to her. _Too_ close is dangerous – right now it is. He’s only had two condoms on him; one he put there himself because he always keeps one in there. Not because he ever thinks to use it, but he likes to be prepared if the need for it _ever_ arises. And the second condom came from Grenn, who slipped it into his wallet as a joke.

 

Jon looks to Sansa now as she becomes more alert with each passing second.

 

Thank Gods for Grenn’s sense of humor.

 

“Do you think I should go on birth control?” Sansa asks, her voice quiet to match the quietness of the morning.

 

Jon shakes his head. “I have nothing to do with that decision,” he answers.

 

“Of course you do,” Sansa argues. “You’re the reason I would be going on it. So we wouldn’t have to worry about condoms and drugstore hours. I would very much like to do this with you again.”

 

He smiles at that and leaned in, kissing her softly again. “Trust me. I definitely want to do it with you again, too. But I don’t mind using condoms and when I get home, I’m buying a carton of them.” Sansa smiles at that and Jon smiles, too, before taking another kiss. “But I’m not going to tell you what to do when it comes to putting medicines in _your_ body.”

 

Sansa looks at him, quiet as she thinks that over, and she lifts one of her hands, resting it on his bare chest, over his heart. Jon rests a hand on her bare arm and rubs it slowly up and down, as if he is trying to warm her. Sansa responds to that by moving closer to him and this time, she is the one to initiate their next kiss.

 

“After breakfast, we’ll go to the House Bracken museum and explore Stone Hedge a bit and then, we’ll stop at the drugstore,” she decides. “Once we get back home, I’m going to talk with Winnie about birth control. She was on it when she and Robb first were together. I think it will just be easier for us.” She kisses him again. “Especially after last night and I saw how amazing it could be.” She smiles and kisses him again.

 

“Did you and Harry…” Jon begins to kick himself, not knowing why he would even _think_ to ask that. He knows she wasn’t a virgin before last night with him and while he loves her, he just doesn’t know if they’re at the point to talk about their past partners yet. And he doesn’t know if he wants to hear about her ex-boyfriend.

 

Harry’s not really an ex-boyfriend though, is he? Not like how that term is usually used. She and Harry never broke up. Harry died and after so many years, he’ll just slip away like countless people in this world who came and went before him.

 

Sansa doesn’t seem to mind Jon’s attempted question. Her hand remains on his chest and he wonders if she can feel his heartbeat. “We were teenagers and we had no idea what we were doing,” Sansa answers his unfinished question. “And then, after Harry, there’s been no one until you. And with you…” she leans in and gives him a kiss. Jon very much wants to chase after her lips and continue the kiss, but he can’t – not yet; not until the drugstore opens. “I love you,” she whispers to him.

 

“I love you, too,” he breathes out.

 

Sansa doesn’t ask him about his past sexual experiences and he _will_ tell her – she has every right in the world to know – but he doesn’t think right now, the room slowly growing brighter and lying naked in bed with this woman who he loves, is exactly the time for it. Besides, there’s only been two other women before Sansa so it’s not like he’s some sexual expert either.

 

(Even if that’s exactly how he had felt last night with Sansa, somehow already knowing every inch of her.)

 

…

 

They call down to the front desk just as they had been instructed to do and after they take their separate showers and get themselves ready for a day of walking and researching, Jon and Sansa leave their room and walk down the stairs to the first floor. There is an older man behind the front desk in replace of the young man from the night before and when he sees the couple, he instantly beams.

 

“Good morning, good morning!” He greets them happily. “I’m sorry I missed your arrival last night, but I hope everything, so far, is to your satisfaction?”

 

“It’s perfect,” Sansa tells him with a warm smile.

 

Jon notices how the man seems to puff up a little bit more as Sansa smiles at him. Jon doesn’t blame him. No matter the age, Jon imagines that all men would be willing to do anything for Sansa if she just asks.

 

“I am Lyle and my wife, Bess, is in the kitchen and if you need anything during your stay, please let us know.”

 

Jon is tempted to ask the man about condoms. He _does_ own and run an inn called Barba’s Teats Bed-and-Breakfast. Jon can’t imagine that Lyle would be particularly shy in regards to sex, but he imagines that Sansa would be embarrassed and that’s the last thing Jon wants to do after such a perfect night and early dawn with her. He’ll wait until the drugstore opens. He hopes they have condoms. What kind of drugstore wouldn’t?

 

He wishes he had had the foresight to pack some. He just had never been expecting _this_ to happen this weekend. Making out? Absolutely. Heavy touching? Possibly. But anything more, Jon hadn’t even considered it and he had no intention of presuming that Sansa wanted anything more.

 

In the dining room, they have just settled themselves at a table next to one of the windows when the door to the kitchen swings open and an older, short women with white hair comes bustling out, pushing a cart with her.

 

“Good morning!” She – this must be Bess – greets them cheerfully. “Breakfast is served.”

 

She begins placing plates down in front of them – fried eggs and sausages, fresh biscuits and strawberry jam, cups of orange juice and white porcelain mugs along with their very own fresh pot of coffee.

 

“Thank you,” Jon smiles at the woman and with the scent of food, he realizes how empty his stomach is and how it long ago digested the sandwiches and potato chips Catelyn had packed for them.

 

“Oh, it looks _so_ good,” Sansa smiles widely down at the food, her hands clasped in front of her.

 

And just like Lyle had, Bess seems to stand just a little bit taller. “You let me know if you want seconds of _anything_ ,” she says. “I hope you have a good weekend. I don’t mean to pry, but do you have plans? None of the festivals in the area are scheduled for this weekend.”

 

“Yes, actually, I’m writing a book and we’ve come to get some research done,” Sansa explains to her.

 

Jon smiles as he pours them both mugs of coffee. He loves when she says that. _I’m writing a book_. Hell, yeah, his girlfriend is writing a book – a _history_ book – and what she has already, it’s phenomenal.

 

“Oh?” Bess is instantly curious. “What is your book about, if you don’t mind me asking?”

 

Sansa sits up a bit straighter in her chair. “Well, it will be about the Brackens and Blackwoods in the third century. What I’ve been trying to find, there hasn’t been that much concrete evidence so it’s going to be historical fiction, built up around what I _have_ been able to find.”

 

Bess’s smile noticeably begins to slip from her face. “The third century?”

 

“Yes. Do you know anything about House Bracken at that time?” Sansa asks, hope in her voice.

 

Jon has been sipping his coffee, but he stops to look at the older woman. She obviously knows something if her face is any indication. She’s not smiling whatsoever anymore; in fact, she seems a bit tense now.

 

“What exactly from the third century?” Bess asks, almost cautiously, looking at Sansa carefully.

 

Sansa glances towards Jon before back to Bess. “Well, specifically, do you know anything about Harry Rivers?” She asks, still looking a little hopeful though now it is mixed in with confusion and even nervousness.

 

“We don’t talk about Harry Rivers,” Bess tells her sternly. “Any Bracken who kills himself for some Blackwood girl is not a Bracken we want to remember.”

 

…

 

“Are you alright?” Jon asks after how many minutes of silence, he doesn’t know.

 

Sitting on the bench next to him, Sansa nods and does her best to give him a nod. “I… when I started this story, I thought it was some grand love story and maybe, Harry and Bethany even did something like run away together and live happily ever after in obscurity somewhere. In Essos! Or… somewhere. When I started, all I wanted to do was give Bethany a happy story. And now… there’s no possible way this story ended happily.”

 

She wipes her cheeks as if she’s been crying and though Jon can tell she’s upset, there aren’t any tears. His arm is already around her and he tightens it, holding her into his side.

 

“Just because it ended one way for Bethany and Harry in this world, that doesn’t mean that you can’t give them the happy ending they deserved in your story,” Jon tells her. “Just forget everything we know. The blank gravestone, the dagger that killed Bethany’s brother, the journal entries, the possible child of Harry, Harry’s suicide, just _forget_ it, Sansa. Right now. Wipe it from your mind.”

 

Sansa shakes her head. “I can’t.”

 

“Okay,” Jon tries to think of a different approach. “Okay,” he says again, a moment later. “Then, taking everything we know, is there any possible way you can take all of this and still give Bethany and Harry a happy ending together?”

 

“But what if they didn’t get that happy ending together?” Sansa asks. She has her notebook with her and it’s open in her lap, the edges of the pages fluttering in the breeze blowing that morning. “What if Harry _did_ have a baby with another woman and he wound up killing himself because Bethany didn’t want to be with him?”

 

She begins turning pages in her notebook, losing herself to her thoughts, and Jon doesn’t interrupt her.

 

After eating breakfast, silent and heavy with Bess’s words, they left the inn to head towards the small House Bracken museum – much like the one in Cairns for House Blackwood – but it isn’t open yet and they have sat themselves on the bench outside the doors, waiting.

 

Past the small number of buildings that make up the “downtown” area, if villages this small have such things, Jon can see the hills Sansa had talked about the night before. They rather do look like teats, Jon has to agree. Jon wants to tell Sansa that he finds hers far more superior – wanting to get her to smile or even laugh – but he knows now is not the time. Sansa is lost to her thoughts and Jon wants her to work this out.

 

Bess threw them both for a loop, that’s for sure.

 

Jon can’t explain it. He doesn’t even want to think about it _to_ explain it. But ever since they arrived here last night, he’s felt something. Jon has no idea what that feeling is. He’s never been to Stone Hedge before this day. Maybe it’s because his grandma is from this area and her blood is his. Or maybe with Sansa’s research, Jon hasn’t even realized it, but he’s started to develop attachments to both Bethany Blackwood and Harry Rivers as well.

 

He doesn’t know what it is. He just knows that he has a sense over him that he knows this place. Somehow, he feels as comfortable here as if he’s lived here his entire life. He wonders if his mom and grandparents brought him here when he was too young to remember; maybe on a Saturday or Sunday on a road trip for a visit to his grandma’s home in the Riverlands. But why wouldn’t they have said anything when Jon told them about his and Sansa’s trip this weekend?

 

Just then, he hears the sharp sound of steel hitting steel and he turns his head, wondering where it’s coming from, but he doesn’t see anything. A man is walking his dog down the street. A woman is opening a small flower shop for the day. There’s nothing else except the breeze blowing and the water rushing in the nearby creek. But Jon knows what he’s heard. He can’t see it, but it’s somewhere very near.

 

He looks to Sansa to see if she’s heard, but she’s still focused on her notebook, deep in thought as she turns the pages and unaware that very nearby, two people are in the midst of a sword fight.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this story is beginning to drag. There's still more to go. Thank you very much for those reading. I can't explain how much every comment means to me.


	28. Part of the Family

…

 

 **Twenty-Eight.** Part of the Family.

Sansa enters this particular mood whenever she writes. Her father affectionately calls it “the zone” and Sansa thinks that that’s exactly what it is. When she writes, she turns on music on her stereo to play ever so-softly in the background – Alexi Murdoch or Lord Huron – and she’ll have a cup of steaming hot tea at the ready and sitting at her desk, she’ll be able to write for an hour, or several, on her laptop without stopping and not noticing anything happening around her. The house could suddenly catch fire and Sansa would be unaware of it until someone threw her over their shoulder and carried her out.

 

She sometimes wonders if she’s always had this love for writing and just had yet to discover it or if this newfound passion of hers is courtesy of her new personality. Or perhaps, it’s just her subject that she finds so enthralling and she can’t stop moving her fingers because when it comes to Bethany Blackwood, Sansa never seems short of things to say.

 

Her vision she had had of the Bethany and Harry at the Blackwood/Bracken wedding, accompanied with her Harry, is still so fresh in her mind and that is the chapter she is writing tonight. The sights, the smells, every stitch of Bethany’s gown, the music playing – Sansa still remembers every single detail and she almost doesn’t even have to pay attention to her fingers as they fly over the keys, filling in page after page.

 

Sansa doesn’t know how much time passes as she writes. She’s too far in the zone to notice something like the time, but when she feels the lightest kiss drop to the side of her neck, she jumps and quickly turns her head.

 

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” Jon gives her a small smile. “I just wanted to let you know that I was here.”

 

Sansa’s eyes fly to the clock in the corner of her computer screen. “Oh my goodness, I didn’t even…” She’s been writing for nearly three hours straight and now, it’s almost time for dinner – hence Jon’s arrival.

 

She turns her chair around as Jon settles himself on the corner of the foot of her bed.

 

“Going good?” He asks with that same small smile on his lips.

 

Sansa feels her heart flip from the sight of him sitting on her bed. He looks as he always does with his hair pulled back, dark jeans and a black sweater. He has trimmed his beard, but knowing how much she loves it, Sansa knows he’ll never completely shave it. If he ever did though, Sansa doesn’t doubt he’ll still look as good as he always does. He’s a ridiculously handsome man.

 

And he’s all hers.

 

And just knowing that, and the question he’s asked, Sansa has every reason in the world to smile.

 

“Very good,” she answers and Jon smiles a bit wider. “Forty more pages done today.”

 

Jon exhales an impressed stream of air and Sansa turns back to her laptop, making sure she’s hit the save button and then she hits the print button so she can have a hard copy of what she’s done today. She’s paranoid and if her stick drive decides to fail for whatever reason, she wants a copy in her hands of everything’s she’s written thus far.

 

Standing up to collect the papers from the printer on the small table next to her desk, she flips through the stack, turning back towards Jon. “I’m going to need to do some serious editing. By the time I’m done with this story, it will be way too long and no one will want to read four hundred pages on Bethany Blackwood.”

 

“ _I_ want to read four hundred pages on her,” Jon says and Sansa knows that that’s exactly what he would say.

 

Still, it makes her blush all the same and she goes to him. Hugging the pages to her chest, she leans down and kisses him softly on the lips. She then sits down next to him and she feels warm inside when Jon casually rests his hand on her thigh – just as he had during dinner at Gilly and Sam’s. He doesn’t put his hand there to make a move on her or instigate anything. He just rests it there because she has realized that he just wants to be in contact with her in some way.

 

“I’m going to call Gilly and see if we can have another Ouija board session,” Sansa reveals to him in all one breath, nervous – slightly terrified – of what his reaction to that will be, but it’s been something that’s been on her mind ever since returning from Stone Hedge and she knows that it’s not only a want; it’s an absolute _need_.

 

Jon is quiet, thinking that over. “You want to see if you’ll see something again?” He asks.

 

She knows he still doesn’t believe she saw anything the first time and she’s not going to try and convince him. It’s just the way Jon is. He believes in cold, hard facts and he’s realistic and logical. She loves him for all of those things because those things make him _Jon_. And she also loves that he doesn’t immediately scoff at her for her brain obviously working in the exact opposite way.

 

“I have to know how it ends,” Sansa says quietly. “I think I already know, but… I want her to show me.”

 

Jon is quiet again, thinking that over now. “If it does end the way you think, are you still going to be giving her the happy ending you want?”

 

Sansa looks down to his hand on her thigh and holding the papers with one arm, she moves her other hand to rest over his, fingers curling around it so she can hold onto it.

 

“Yes.” Her voice is quiet, but her word is strong. “She was young and she fell in love. She deserves a happy ending.” She brings her hand back and holds the stack of paper to her thighs and Jon closes the inch of space between them so his arm can circle low around her waist.

 

Sometimes, Sansa admits, she isn’t sure whether she’s talking about herself or Bethany Blackwood.

 

“Are you going to write Harry Rivers as the bad guy?” Jon asks and Sansa turns her head to look at him, admittedly very surprised – and slightly confused – by his question. “When we were in Stone Hedge…” he trails off then and Sansa finds herself almost holding her breath at what he’s about to say. She knows it will be logical and yet, maybe something happened to him like what happened to her.

 

Bethany quite possibly reached out to her, to pull her through the Ouija board. When they were in Stone Hedge, did Harry Rivers try to reach Jon?

 

She doesn’t rush Jon to finish his thought or his sentence. Knowing Jon, even if something did happen to him like that, he would use every fiber in his body to deny it and convince himself that nothing had happened.

 

“When we were in Stone Hedge and we saw that every possible mention of Harry Rivers was completely wiped away from that family history, I got this feeling…” he looks down to the papers in her lap and his arm tightens around her waist and she wonders if he realizes he’s doing it. “I think he was just a guy who did something and then he met a girl and fell in love with her and that something came back into his life whether he wanted it to or was expecting it to.”

 

“You got this feeling?” Sansa has to ask.

 

Jon shakes his head and for a passing minute, he seems very far away. “I don’t know. It was just an idea I had during our weekend there and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

 

Sansa stays quiet. There is more she wants to ask him, but she knows that if she does – tries to get Jon to talk about whatever idea he’s had when it’s clear he has no idea where this idea came from – Jon will probably start to deny it all and come up with some logical reason as to why he’s had the idea in the first place.

 

Maybe it’s best if he just thinks it through on his own and Sansa only hopes he’ll come talk to her about it whenever he’s ready. Perhaps, if she speaks with Gilly and they have another Ouija board session, Bethany will reach for her again – hopefully – and maybe, this time, Harry Rivers will show her something as well.

 

“We’re here!” They can both hear Robb shout from downstairs, Lady and Shaggydog barking at his arrival and Ned telling the dogs to “Shut up” as he always does.

 

Jon takes a deep breath and Sansa knows that the subject has now been changed.

 

He leans in and gives her a quick kiss. “Can I read it?” He asks.

 

“Nope,” Sansa shakes her head with a smile. “I let you read the first eighty pages because I value your opinion when it comes to history and I just wanted to make sure that I was on the right path.”

 

“And now you don’t value my opinion?” Jon smiles to match hers.

 

“Nope,” she says again, this time with a laugh. She gives him a kiss before standing up and going to her desk again where the rest of her book is. Her book. Gods, she loves the way that sounds. “I won’t want you reading it again until I have the entire story. Patience.”

 

“Patience,” Jon grumbles to himself as he gets to his feet.

 

Sansa spins towards him and looping her arms around his shoulders, she kisses him. “Thank you for wanting to read it so badly.”

 

“I’d read the phone book if you typed it up,” Jon says and Sansa’s heart flips in her chest as he kisses her.

 

Sansa certainly can’t let a comment like that pass without a kiss so that’s what she does.

 

The way Jon believes in her, his faith in her completely, always unwavering, it makes her feel good. She wishes there was some grander word to describe it, but it’s the only word she can ever think of. Jon believing in her makes her feel good – good about herself, good about what she’s doing and the decisions she’s made in her life – this new life of hers – that led her into Mr. Snow’s class in the first place.

 

“I love you,” she whispers, barely lifting her lips from his.

 

“I love you, too,” Jon whispers back and Sansa feels good and warm from those words and all she can do is hope that this good and warm feeling lasts for as long as she lives.

 

She thinks of what else can make her feel good and warm. “Would you mind if I spent the night at your flat?” She is proud of herself for being able to get the question out in one go. “Not tonight,” she is quick to add, not wanting him to think that she’s pressuring him to invite her over on such a short notice.

 

“Not tonight?” Jon questions and Sansa swears she can see him biting back a smile. “What if I want you to spend the night tonight?”

 

Sansa pauses before answering. “Do you really want me to spend the night tonight or-”

 

Jon swiftly cut her off with a firm kiss to her lips and all possible ways to end her question fade in her mind.

 

…

 

They have finished their dinner of spaghetti and meatballs – Robb’s choice that evening – when Robb makes the announcement.

 

Catelyn screams and then Sansa shrieks with happiness and Rickon lets out a whoop as Ned stands and pulls Robb from his chair into a tight hug. Catelyn bursts into tears and pulls Winnie into their own hug and then, it seems as if Robb and Winnie are passed around so everyone can hug them. Even Jon gets hugs from Winnie and Robb when they come around the table and Sansa beams when she witnesses it. She loves that her family doesn’t even stop to think of including Jon in their celebration.

 

“We need drinks!” Ned announces. “And Winnie, a tall glass of milk!”

 

Winnie laughs at that as Sansa hugs her sister-in-law again.

 

“A baby,” Sansa sighs happily. “I’m so, so happy for you.”

 

“I took a test and then we went to the doctor to confirm and we were actually able to hear the heartbeat already, but I’m still having such a hard time believing it,” Winnie says with wet cheeks and a blinding smile.

 

“You didn’t tell me you and Robb were trying.” 

 

“We weren’t. It just happened,” Winnie answers and Sansa beams, hugging her again.

 

“No, Ned,” Catelyn is saying as they come out of the kitchen, a glass of wine for herself and the glass of milk for Winnie. “None for Rickon.”

 

“Mom,” Rickon immediately begins to protest.

 

“Oh, Cat, it’s a very special occasion,” Ned tells his wife while handing Sansa the Shirley Temple he has mixed for her, delivering it with a smile and Sansa beams at her father in reply.

 

Sansa doesn’t drink and has no desire to ever drink and her family knows that, but sometimes, she likes to act like she is drinking when a situation arises – whether it be sparkling cider or Shirley Temples.

 

“And we’re not going to let him drive him anywhere tonight,” Robb grins, clapping his youngest brother on the shoulder while handing Rickon one of the glasses of wine.

 

Catelyn just sighs and doesn’t say anything else about it. It is a very special, very happy occasion and she supposes there’s not _that_ much harm in Rickon indulging in a bit of wine. _Bit_.

 

Sansa is sitting with Winnie and her mom on the couch in the family room, Catelyn asking Winnie all sorts of questions of how she is feeling and how is Robb handling everything and how the heartbeat sounded. Winnie is laughing, telling them the story of Robb and when he found out, his brain seemed to short-circuit and he was only able to ask “How?” over and over again.

 

“I actually had to explain to him how babies are made,” Winnie laughs. “I would have thought you and Ned had taken care of that conversation years ago,” she then teases her mother-in-law.

 

Catelyn laughs, too – at her son’s expense, of course.

 

“How _are_ babies made, dad?” Rickon grins at Ned, who just gives his son a look from over his wine glass.

 

 “Sip, Rickon,” Catelyn says after Rickon takes a huge gulp of wine from his glass. “You need to sniff it, let it travel through your other senses. It will help you appreciate the taste all the more.”

 

“We should go to Dorne, mom,” Rickon grins. “They have all of those vineyards down there. I can be educated on how to fully appreciate wine.”

 

“Nice try,” Catelyn replies to that.

 

As her family continues talking, conversation returning to Winnie and the pregnancy so far, Sansa notes that Robb and Jon aren’t in the family room with them. Turning her head, wondering where they are, she then excuses herself though the others aren’t paying attention. She takes a sip of her drink before leaving her glass on the dining room table as she passes it, but stops herself on the other side of the swinging door when she hears her brother and boyfriend talking in the kitchen.

 

“She seems happy?” Jon is asking and he seems worried.

 

“Ridiculously,” Robb assures him and Sansa smiles, knowing that they’re talking about her.

 

She would think her happiness is obvious, but if Jon has to ask – just to make sure – she’s glad that Robb can see that she’s happy and can put Jon’s worried thoughts to rest.

 

“And was she… was she happy with Harry?” Jon then asks.

 

Sansa frowns a bit at that, confused. She wonders why Jon is asking about that. It obviously is something on his mind, but _why_ would it be on his mind? Does he think about Harry and her relationship with Harry often? He’s never let her know that he does.

 

“She was a teenager, literally, with Harry so sure. She was a happy teenager with her teenage boyfriend,” Robb answers. “It’s different though with you. For one, she’s not a teenager anymore. You're a really good _man_. And Harry was a good kid. I remember his laugh. He liked to laugh.”

 

Sansa can’t help, but smile a little at that. She remembers Harry’s laugh, too. It was the kind of laugh that when he laughed, it made everyone around him who could hear it smile.

 

“I’m not really a laughing kind of guy,” Jon murmurs, but Sansa can still hear him say it.

 

“And Sansa obviously doesn’t mind,” Robb says.

 

Sansa wants to go into the kitchen right then and she doesn’t care if they find out she’s been eavesdropping. She wants to assure Jon that yes, she doesn’t mind. She doesn’t even care. Besides, he laughs and smiles when it matters. She doesn’t need a joker or anyone remotely like Harry. Harry was Harry and Jon is Jon and she completely _loves_ Jon.

 

Jon’s silence keeps her from going into the kitchen though. She doesn’t need to see him to know that he’s thinking Robb’s words over. Sansa keeps frowning to herself; this time with worry.  

 

Is that something Jon thinks? Does he think about Harry and worry about Harry? Does he think that Sansa is only with him because Harry’s not here anymore? And since Jon and Harry are _so_ different, does Jon worry that one day, Sansa’s “new personality” will switch back to what it was before and have her go find someone else more like Harry than him?

 

Sansa hadn’t even thought, for one second, that this was a conversation she and Jon had to have, but his silence to her brother in the kitchen shows her that it definitely is.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for reading. I feel like I get repetitive in my thanks, but I mean it. Your crazy love and unwavering support and comments for this story mean so much to me and all I can say is THANK YOU!
> 
> Some things in the coming chapters: Jon will be substituting for one of the history professors, and it just so happens to be one of Sansa's classes. It might be a bit hard to separate Mr. Snow, the professor, from Jon, the boyfriend, despite his best efforts. Sexy times. Ouija board sessions and girl times with Sansa/Gilly/Maddie. Jon/Sansa/Snow family time. More writing. More research. Sansa and Bethany meet. And for those who like this, more Ghost!Harry as well.


	29. Learning Curve

…

 

**Twenty-Nine.** Learning Curve.

As promised, once Jon gets off the phone with him, Jeor Mormont emails Jon his class lesson plans. With Sansa sleeping in the bed, Jon goes out into the living room where he sits at his desk, going over everything. Jeor has insisted that he’ll only be out for a week – two at the most – and Jon has promised the man that he will have no problem covering his classes for that time. To be honest, Jeor Mormont teaches the class that Jon would love to teach if he ever gets the opportunity to teach something other than Introduction to Westeros History. Perhaps if Jeor ever takes the plunge and actually retires, Jon will be able to take over the History of the Night’s Watch course.

 

For now, he gets to teach it for a few days and he had done his best to not sound _too_ eager while on the phone when Jeor Mormont had asked to cover for him while the man had some personal family business to see to.

 

It’s after midnight and everything is quiet. After spending a bit of time at the Stark house after they ate dinner, celebrating with Robb and Winnie and their pregnancy, Sansa had gone upstairs to pack an overnight bag. Jon admits that he had been nervous – not about Sansa staying at his flat, but her family’s reaction to it. But, when Sansa came downstairs again, she was smiling and asking Jon if he was ready to go and there had been no warning or dirty looks thrown his way by any of her family.

 

“They know I’m an adult and my mom already knows we have slept together,” Sansa informed him as he drove them back to his flat.

 

That didn’t exactly make Jon feel better though. Yes, Sansa was an adult and they were two adults in a relationship together, but Jon thought of his own family and how, sometimes, family didn’t want to be reminded when a child of theirs had actually grown up.

 

Still, though, Jon couldn’t deny that he loved having Sansa in his flat and in his bed.

 

Sansa belongs here. He doesn’t doubt that. It feels right to have her here and he wishes it wasn’t too soon to ask her to move in with him completely. Is it too soon? Jon’s never lived with a girlfriend before; has never come close to asking a girlfriend to move in with him so maybe it isn’t too soon. Would Sansa think it’s too soon? Despite her being an adult and her parents not saying anything when she came to spend the night, Jon wonders what their reaction would be if she told them that she and Jon were going to move in together.

 

They had just finished making love, Sansa falling asleep in his arms just a few minutes after, and Jon had been well on his way when he had heard his phone vibrating on the nightstand next to the bed. It had been Jeor Mormont and considering it was after midnight, Jon knew that something serious had to have happened.

 

“It’s fine,” the older man said as Jon quietly left the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He then sighed. “I can trust you, can’t I, Snow?” He asked.

 

“Of course you can,” Jon was quick to assure him.

 

“My son, he’s always given me trouble. He’s gotten into a bit of it now over in Essos and I have to fly over there and try to get him out of it,” Jeor explained.

 

“Take as long as you need,” Jon said. “And don’t worry about your classes.”

 

“I won’t worry about that ones _you’re_ covering for me. Thorne has put that Lannister in charge of the others.” Jeor grumbled then about Alliser Thorne, the Head of the college’s History Department, and Tyrion Lannister, the newest professor on campus, for quite a few minutes.

 

Politics are in everything – even in the History Department at Winterfell Community College. Jon feels like Jeor should be the Head, but that’s obviously not up to him. He knows how Jeor can come across. He’s an old, gruff and sometimes mean man. Jon can see though how the people who make these kinds of decisions would not exactly like that. And though he had a hand in hiring him, Alliser Thorne doesn’t seem to like Jon much. Jon’s not entirely sure why, but he’s not exactly going up to the man, asking him about it. Jon just does his best to stay out his way and keep quiet during staff meetings.

 

Jon doesn’t know how Alliser would react if he found out about him and Sansa. Even though Sansa is not his student any longer and what he and Sansa are doing together isn’t wrong, still, Jon doesn’t think he’ll be taking an announcement out in the college newspaper about their relationship for Alliser to read.

 

After Jeor emails his lesson plans, Jon knows there’s no reason for him to stay up. It’s late, his girlfriend is naked and sleeping in his bed, and Jon should go join her. But as he looks over Jeor’s plans for the classes, Jon finds himself becoming too excited to leave his computer.

 

He knows it’s a big deal for only a professor in his second year at the college to teach Introduction to Westeros History. Since it’s an obligatory course for every student, it’s a course that is a very large responsibility. Jon looks at as either maybe Alliser doesn’t hate him like Jon thinks or Alliser gave it to his young professor so Jon could easily sink and fail at it.

 

Jon knows he has a long way to go until he has enough weight in the department to show his worth and prove that he can teach other courses. Jeor says he’s not ready to retire and Jon believes him, but he hopes that when the man finally does take the plunge and say goodbye to the college, Jon will be able to take over and become the new professor for the History of the Night’s Watch.

 

The floorboard in the hallway creaks then and Jon smiles to himself. Turning his chair around, he sees Sansa coming down the short hallway, wearing her underwear that he had stripped off of her a couple of hours ago and his tee-shirt that’s picked up from the floor. Her hair is an adorable mess and Jon smiles just at the sight of her. Gods, he could really get used to having her all of the time.

 

Ghost had been sleeping on the floor under Jon’s desk, but at the sight of Sansa, he pulls himself up and goes to greet. Sansa smiles and yawns at the same time as she bestows the dog with an ear scratch. She then lifts her eyes and looks at Jon, smiling still. Jon smiles, too, and she comes to him, easing down sideways into his lap.

 

“Work?” She asks, her voice quiet, still a little rough with sleep.

 

“One of the other history professors is going to be out for a couple of weeks and I’m going to be helping him out and teaching one of his courses,” Jon says, his eyes going back to his laptop screen as his hand rubs up and down her bare thigh.

 

Sansa is resting her head on his shoulder and he smiles at the idea of her falling back asleep and he having to carry her to bed. “Which class?” Sansa wonders.

 

“History of the Night’s Watch,” he answers as he clicks on one of Jeor’s attached PowerPoint presentations.

 

“So, I guess I’ll see you there. Is Mr. Mormont alright?”

 

“Shit, I forgot you’re taking that this semester.”

 

How the hell could he have forgotten that? He had helped her pick out her courses for this semester.  

 

“Is that going to be a problem?” Sansa lifts her head from his shoulder to look at him, but Jon is still looking at the screen and he shakes his head.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

…

 

“So, you’ve gone over the builders and stewards and we’re going to now start on the third order that compromise the Night’s Watch. Can anyone tell me what that third order is?” Jon asks as he stands in front of Jeor’s class of about eighteen students.

 

He almost smiles when he sees seven different hands go up – including Sansa’s. This is why he can’t wait until he can teach something other than Introduction to Westeros History. Yes, that course is extremely important and is obviously a foundation for all other history classes at the college, but he wants the chance to be able to teach smaller classes like this and classes that are taken by students because they _want_ to take them and are interested in the subjects; not just because they _have_ to take them.

 

“Yes.” He calls on a student – not Sansa.

 

“The order of Rangers,” the young man – who’s probably actually a couple of years older than Jon – answers.

 

“That’s right.” Jon clicks on the next slide in the PowerPoint. “Now, a Ranger could be considered the more dangerous compared to the builders or the stewards as Rangers are more likely to encounter wildings and other threats north of the Wall. A senior officer leads the order. And that senior officer is called…?”

 

Again, several students, including Sansa, raise their hands. Jon points to one – not Sansa – to answer.

 

“The First Ranger.”

 

The PowerPoint slide changes. It is of a black and white illustration of a man with a fur cloak. “Does anyone know who this is supposed to be?”

 

He pauses. No hand other than Sansa’s raises in the air. She sits at her desk, looking at him and waiting to be called upon, and Jon still pauses. If he calls on her, that won’t’ be the wrong thing to do. After all, she is the only one right now with her hand raised. It’s not showing favoritism if he shows attention to the woman who slept in his bed last night.

 

He waits too long and Sansa begins to frown at him, her brow furrowed.

 

“This is Redwyn, a ranger during the reign of Dorren Stark,” Jon tells the class and Sansa slowly lowers her hand, her eyes never leaving him as the frown only grows deeper on her face.

 

Jon hates this. He doesn’t know how to do this. How can he be a teacher when his girlfriend is in his class? And yes, him teaching this class is only temporary – one week, two at the most – so Sansa won’t be his student forever, but he is still going to be teaching her class for these one or two weeks.

 

For a fleeting moment, he thinks of his dad and how he probably stood in front of a class much like this one and looked out and saw young Lyanna Snow, listening to his lectures and raising her hand to either or ask questions. Did his dad look out at his mom and think of how he wanted to sleep with her?

 

Jon continues with the lecture for another half hour before class ends - Sansa does not raise her hand again in that time - and he goes to the desk to gather his things. From the corner of his eye, he sees the students gathering their things and leaving and he can see Sansa doing the same. She moves a bit slower than the others to keep her head from spinning if she does anything too quickly and Jon holds his breath, waiting to see if she will wait for him.

 

He knows soon enough. Once she has all of her things and is wearing her coat with her messenger bag on her shoulder, Sansa doesn’t even look at him. Her eyes sweep right over him as if he’s not there at all and she leaves the room without speaking a word to him.

 

Jon exhales the breath he was holding. He should have expected that. He fucked up. No one on this campus except for Sansa and himself know about their relationship. If he had called on her, no one would have looked twice at it. They would have seen a professor calling on a student who had her hand raised to give an answer.

 

He's a fucking idiot.

 

…

 

“Well, if you’re waiting to argue with you on that, clench your ass cheeks and keep waiting,” Grenn tells him, eloquent as always. Sam snickers and keeps eating from his bucket of popcorn and Jon frowns at them both. Grenn takes a sip from his drink through his straw before continuing. “You said it yourself. No one knows you two are together. She was the only one with her hand raised. So, don’t you think you made it obvious that something was going on between you two by not calling on her?”

 

Jon keeps frowning – but that’s only because he knows that Grenn makes an excellent point; it’s the point he’s thought of over and over again since class that early afternoon and five texts and calls he has sent to Sansa have continued to go unanswered.

 

“Why are you here, by the way?” Sam asks once his mouth is no longer full with popcorn.

 

“Because we’ve been wanting to see _John Wick 3_ since we left the theater for _John Wick 2_ ,” Jon answers.

 

“I think what our good friend Sam means is… why the fuck are you _here_ when Sansa is mad at you?” Grenn asks. “You can come see this movie anytime. It didn’t have to be tonight and I’m sure Sam and me would have gone and seen it again with you when you weren’t fighting with your girlfriend.”

 

“We’re not fighting,” Jon says, more to himself as he pulls his cellphone from his pocket to look at the screen. He doesn’t know why he’s bothered though. Still no response in a form of a call or text.

 

Sam snorts. “She’s ignoring you. You’re fighting.”

 

“Gods, how has a man as pretty as you gotten this far in life without ever having an actual relationship?” Grenn wonders out loud though before Maddie – and if there wasn’t Maddie – Grenn could say the same thing about himself; though, he admits, he’s not quite as pretty as Jon Snow.

 

“I’ve had relationships,” Jon grumbles.

 

“Neither of those count,” Sam tells him just as Grenn opens his mouth to say the exact thing – all three thinking of the two past girlfriends that could somewhat be considered actual ones.

 

Jon doesn’t respond to that. Talking about and going into his ex-girlfriends is definitely not something he wants to do right now. There’s only one girlfriend he wants to think about; the only one who’s ever mattered and could distract him when he’s about to see a movie he and his mates really want to see.

 

Just as the lights dim down, Jon stands up, handing Grenn his drink. “I’ll be back,” he tells them.

 

“No, you won’t!” Sam calls after him and Jon leaves the theater, hearing Sam and Grenn laugh after him.

 

In the lobby of the theater, Jon sits down on a bench before the exits and brings up Sansa’s number before putting the phone to his ear, listening to it ring. As he expects, it goes into her voicemail.

 

_“Hi, it’s Sansa. Please leave a message and I promise I will get back to you. And I admit that I’m being petty and probably overreacting, but I purposely have changed my voicemail to say that if this is Jon, stop. I’ll talk to you when I’m ready.”_

Oh…

 

Fuck!

 

This is definitely not good. Not good at all. Sam’s right. They are definitely fighting and being in a movie theater with his best mates is not the place he should be in right now.

 

Standing up, Jon heads right out the exit and across the parking lot towards his car. He’s glad he drove himself here, having met Grenn and Sam after he left campus for the day. He has to go to the Stark house and see Sansa, which is what he should have done hours earlier and he can only hope that Sansa will actually see him.

 

His mates are right. He’s never been in a relationship and he has no idea what he’s doing. What are the odds that Sansa will take pity on him and teach him a few things?

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have missed this story in just the couple of days I was away from it. Thank you so much for reading!


	30. Sansa’s Sansa

…

 

**Thirty.** Sansa’s Sansa.

Catelyn, with Ned’s help, finishes cleaning the kitchen up after dinner and now, Ned sits at the table, answering an email on his laptop and sipping a cup of coffee and Catelyn fills the kettle and puts it on the stove, all the while, listening as Sansa tells them all about her class that afternoon with Jon teaching.

 

“Wait,” Rickon interrupts. He’s sitting at the table across from Ned, finishing his homework up for the night. He looks to Sansa with a frown. “I’m confused. What did Jon do?”

 

“He wouldn’t call on me when my hand was the _only_ hand raised,” Sansa repeats with her own frown.

 

“The bastard,” Rickon replies to that with a grin.

 

“Rickon,” both Ned and Catelyn immediately scold him, but Rickon just keeps on grinning.

 

“Seriously, Sansa,” he continues, looking to his oldest sister. “He didn’t call on you. Did you think _why_ he didn’t call on you? He probably doesn’t want to make it so obvious to everyone that you’re sleeping together.”

 

“Rickon,” Ned says again, this time nearly shifting in his seat. He doesn’t care if most of his children are adults. He _never_ wants to think of their sexual activities. Even Robb and Winnie, having been married these past years and now with Winnie pregnant, it’s just easier for him if he imagines everyone as virgins.

 

Sansa’s brow wrinkles at that and then looks to her mom as if asking for confirmation.

 

“It does make sense, dear,” Catelyn tells her as she collects mugs from the cabinet. “I was thinking the same thing. It probably isn’t outright forbidden, but it probably is frowned upon for a professor and a student to be in a relationship with one another.”

 

“I’m not Jon’s student though. Not anymore,” Sansa shakes her head.

 

“Well, now that he’s subbing in your class, he’s your professor and you’re his student again,” Rickon says.

 

“He should have talked with you, yes, but he’s obviously just being cautious,” Catelyn adds.

 

Sansa doesn’t say anything to that; letting her mother and brother’s words settle in her mind for the moment.

 

That _does_ make sense; Jon not wanting to air their relationship for everyone on the college’s campus to know. She knows it probably is frowned upon – students and professors engaging in relationships with one another – and for good reason. Either people would think she’s sleeping with Jon for good grades or people would think that Jon is taking advantage of his younger student.

 

And she’s not saying that they should take an advertisement out in the newspaper and announce their relationship to everyone, but that doesn’t mean that he can’t call on her in a class when she knows the answer. She can’t help, but be a little miffed about that. He ignored her. He looked right at her and then looked away as if he hadn’t seen her at all. She studies. She reads. She does well in all of her history classes. She likes her classes and answering questions, proud of herself when she does so correctly. She _knows_ things; not nearly as much as Jon when it comes to history, but still, she does know things and he should have told her before class that he was going to be ignoring her existence.

 

The tea kettle whistles and Catelyn takes it, pouring out three mugs of tea, Sansa going to the refrigerator for the cream. She, Catelyn and Rickon all take cream in their tea.

 

“Do you think I’ve overreacted?” Sansa asks her family once they are all sitting at the kitchen table with their drinks and Rickon is already nodding his head even as his head is down to his textbook, highlighting, before Sansa can even fully finish asking the question.

 

Ned and Catelyn glance to one another before back to Sansa.

 

“I think, perhaps, you’re reacting now as you would have to Harry,” Catelyn says as gently as she can.

 

Sansa isn’t sure what to say or do to that so she doesn’t say or do anything.

 

She knows that’s the truth. As soon as her mother says that, she knows it. She has said it before – to herself and to others. She’s never been in an adult relationship. She doesn’t know how to be in an adult relationship. Most times, she doesn’t even know how to be an adult. Every experience she has with relationships is from high school and from Harry. Being with Jon these past few months, it has already taught her so much.

 

This is their first fight; a tiff really because it doesn’t even seem too serious to be a completely full-blown fight, but at the first sign of a tiff, Sansa reverts to being seventeen-years-old again and her response to this is exactly how she would have responded to Harry if he had ignored her or one reason or another. Ignoring him. Changing her voicemail. Refusing to communicate.

 

Sansa lifts up her tea mug with both hands and blows on it before taking a small sip.

 

“I think I’m going to take Lady for a walk,” she decides, getting to her feet.

 

“Don’t be long,” Ned says and though their neighborhood is perfectly safe – one of the safest in all of Winterfell – Sansa is still his daughter and he doesn’t like if she’s out when it’s too dark outside.

 

Sliding her tea mug towards Rickon so he can finish it for her, Sansa goes to get her shoes and coat. Lady dances with excitement, making it a bit of a challenge for Sansa to hook the leash onto her collar, but finally getting it, Sansa steps outside, inhaling the brisk air before she and Lady make their way down the porch steps and the long driveway.

 

Lady leads the way and Sansa follows behind, stopping when Lady stops to sniff at the grass of someone’s yard, sometimes marking the spot for her own, before trotting on. Sansa pulls out her cell phone, tapping into her main screen, and seeing the missed calls from Jon. The last one is from a half hour ago.

 

He hasn’t called or messaged since then and why should he? Her ignoring him and changing her voice mail message to show him just how immature she is, Jon is probably wondering why the hell he’s even bothering with someone as young as her.

 

She’s told her mom and Robb. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She doesn’t know how to be an adult; let alone an adult in an adult relationship with a man rather than a boy. She loves Jon – she’s falling more in love with him with every minute they spend together – but love in an adult relationship isn’t enough and what does she know about anything?

 

She can so easily imagine Jon looking at all of his unanswered calls and texts and say “Fuck it” before going off and finding another; a _woman_. Maybe this time, he will find a connection with Val, who’s an adult with a job and who doesn’t live with her parents and would probably answer his calls and not change her voice mail message to show that she’s so much younger, mentally, than him.

 

Is this because of the car accident? Did her brain just stop when she was eighteen and she hadn’t noticed?

 

She and Lady circle the block once before heading back towards home. It smells like rain, but it’s cold enough for snow. She hopes it’s not a combination of both. Few things scare Sansa as much as ice. Just the idea of having to be in a car while driving on icy roads makes Sansa want to shrink inside of herself and hide.

 

The porch light is on, as always, and as Sansa nears the house, she sees a familiar car now parked there in the driveway. And then, sitting on the top porch step, she sees someone. She sees him.

 

“Lady!”

 

Lady has seen Jon as well for the dog yanks her leash clear out of Sansa’s hand before Sansa can realize it and tears off, the dog reaching Jon in a matter of moments, greeting him with a sweeping tail and a licking tongue.

 

“Hey, girl,” Jon greets her in a gentle voice with a smile, rubbing and petting the eager dog. “Did you have a good walk?” Lady licks his chin as if answering him and Sansa approaches, able to see his beautiful smile.

 

Her stomach clenches at the sight of it.

 

“Come on, Lady. Let’s get you inside,” Sansa says, taking Lady’s leash again. Jon stands up, his smile gone, and they both stop, looking at one another. “Will you wait?”

 

“Of course I will.”

 

Sansa opens the front door, calling out to her parents that she’s back as she unhooks Lady’s leash. And then, closing the front door again, she turns on the porch to see Jon standing there, his hands in his coat pockets.

 

“You haven’t been waiting long, have you?” Sansa asks, breaking the silence. Her walk with Lady hadn’t been that long, but it’s frigid out here and just a few minutes could feel like an hour.

 

“Not long.”

 

She moves towards one of the wicker chairs her mom has set up on the front porch and Jon follows her, both sitting down, both turning towards the other.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jon says just as Sansa opens her mouth to say the exact same thing.

 

“No, Jon,” she shakes her head quickly. “ _I’m_ sorry. I overreacted and I should have actually talked with you instead of just ignoring you as if that would solve anything.”

 

“I should have talked to you, too, Sansa. I should have talked with you before class and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

 

Sansa is the one to reach over and reach her fingers around his wrist, pulling his hand from his coat pocket so she can hold onto his hand. He’s not wearing gloves and she can feel how cold they are through her mittens. She begins to rub his hand with both of hers and it looks like he wants to smile, but he stops before he can.

 

“I just…” He takes a deep breath before beginning again. “My mom was eighteen when she became pregnant with me. She had just graduated from high school. She knew exactly who the father was, but I still have no idea who he is. I figured out pretty quickly that I didn’t _want_ to know. He was…”

 

Sansa stops rubbing his hand and holds it, waiting for him to continue.

 

“He was a visiting teacher in her high school and she was young and he seduced her. His student.”

 

“Jon,” Sansa says, everything clicking into place in a matter of seconds. She shakes her head. “You are not your father. I actually think _I_ did my best to seduce you,” she does her best to tease him.

 

It works for he smiles a little before it fades as he stares at her.

 

“I never want to take advantage of you, Sansa, and I don’t want anyone else to think that that’s what I’m doing with you. When everyone knows about our relationship, I don’t want anyone even thinking that for a moment. And I don’t want anyone thinking the wrong thing about you either because you’re dating me.”

 

Sansa doesn’t say anything to that; not right away.

 

She stands up from her chair and comes to Jon. It’s a tight squeeze, but she manages to sit in the chair, too, her body squished against his, her legs having to rest across his and he wraps his arms around her, holding her tight; she already as close to him as she possibly can be.

 

“I’m sorry,” she tells him quietly. “I’ve only had one other boyfriend before you and I was in high school. I’m learning how to be an adult and I’m scared that you’ll realize I have no idea what I’m doing with you.”

 

Jon leans in, his lips brushing along her temple. He doesn’t say anything and Sansa is prompted to continue.

 

“I miss Harry,” she then confesses in a whisper and Jon pulls his head back to look at her. “But, the more time I spend with you, falling in love with you, I miss him less and less. He’ll always be with me. I know that. I’m never going to forget him-”

 

“I’m not asking you to,” Jon cuts in with a quiet voice.

 

“I know. But I know it’s not fair to you if I’m with you and letting him stay with us. Changing my voice mail message and ignoring you is what Harry’s Sansa would have done. Not Jon’s Sansa.”

 

Jon lifts one of his cold hands to brush his fingers along her jaw. She shivers, but not from his touch. It’s from _him_. She shivers when he’s near; when he’s looking at her and kissing her or whispering delicious words in her ear. Sansa can so easily see herself shivering the rest of her life with Jon.

 

“What would Sansa’s Sansa have done?” He asks her then.

 

She doesn’t know why, but the question makes her pause.

 

She’s never even considered that kind of question. Sansa’s Sansa? Sansa’s Sansa. She likes the sound of that.

 

“She would have stopped at your desk after class and ask why the hell you didn’t call on me,” she decides and Jon breaks into that beautiful grin of his, the corners of his eyes wrinkling, and she smiles, too.

 

He leans in and gives her a kiss. “And I would have told her that I’m an idiot who is so afraid of becoming my dad, I became an asshole anyway.”

 

Sansa’s smile is gone in an instant and she kisses him again. “You’re the furthest from an asshole I’ve ever met. I won’t raise my hand in the next class,” she then promises.

 

“Gods, no. Raise your hand as much as you like,” Jon says, squeezing her in his arms. “I love teaching in a class where the students actually give a shit about what they’re learning.”

 

Sansa smiles at that and gives him a light peck. “I know Mr. Mormont seems like he will die at his desk before retiring, but maybe, you’ll be able to take one of his classes from him if he gets even older and doesn’t want to teach a particular one anymore?”

 

Jon shakes his head at that. “I think I have a few more years of paying my dues. I’ve actually been thinking about maybe starting work on my doctorate. If I have my doctorate, maybe I can teach something else other than the introductory course.”

 

“Oh, Jon, that’s wonderful,” Sansa beams at that and Jon smiles, too, looking a little shy from her praising reaction, but she doesn’t care and she kisses him again. “You absolutely should. Dr. Snow. Dr. Jon Snow,” she recites and Jon’s smile grows wider. “It sounds perfect,” she smiles before Jon gives her a kiss.

 

His smile begins to fade. “Do you wish I was Harry?” He then asks suddenly, softly, and if Sansa hadn’t overheard his conversation with Robb in the kitchen, she would think this question came out of nowhere.

 

“No, Jon,” she answers him immediately, shaking her head. She lifts both hands and puts them on his cheeks, holding his face so his eyes have to look into hers. “Not for even a second have I ever wished that,” she swears. “You’re you and I love you so much. I like to imagine that even if there hadn’t been the car wreck, you and I would have still found one another.”

 

Jon exhales a breath he’s clearly been holding and Sansa kisses him.

 

“I love you, too, Sansa,” he says just in case she needs to know and while she already knows, she certainly won’t complain about hearing it. She’ll never get tired of hearing those words coming from Jon’s mouth.

 

“I just wish I had gotten to say goodbye to him,” she confesses in a whisper.

 

Jon kisses her head and holds her tight as she nestles into him. It’s too cold and they’ll have to go in soon. If it does start to ice, he will have to get home soon, too. Maybe she can spend the night with him at his flat again. They did just make up from their first tiff. Isn’t that what adult couples do? After a tiff, they make up together in more ways than one?

 

She closes her eyes and something suddenly strikes her mind. A jolt of a thought and she nearly jumps at the sharp shock of it; as if she’s just rubbed her feet along the carpet and then reached out to flip the light switch.

 

Is that why she feels such a connection to Bethany? Is that why she’s writing this book and feels such strong feelings in regards to this story; why Bethany perhaps reached out to her? Is this a chance for Bethany Blackwood and Harry Rivers to finally be able to say goodbye to one another?

 

The thought makes her shiver and she presses herself closer to Jon and he holds her tight as if he’s just been able to read her mind.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the most exciting chapter, but I really love this one. Thank you so much for those still reading and hanging in with this one. The next chapter will have another Ouija board session, Ghost!Harry and Sansa finally meets Bethany Blackwood.


	31. You Must Go Back...

…

 

**Thirty-One.** You Must Go Back…

“I don’t know about this.”

 

“Yes, honey. You’ve said that about nine times now,” Maddie says while patting Grenn’s cheek gently.

 

“Well, I’ll make it an even ten then.” Grenn turns towards Sansa. “I don’t know about this. Are you _sure_ about doing this? What if what happens last time happens this time, too?”

 

“I hope it does happen again,” is all Sansa says as she helps Val load the dishwasher as Gilly has gone upstairs to put Little Sam to bed and to get her Ouija board.

 

Grenn mutters to himself and takes another swig from his beer bottle. He wishes Sam and Jon were here tonight. Maybe Sansa would listen to them more than she is to him; which is not at all. But Sam has a late night at the hospital and Jon is subbing one of Jeor Mormont’s night classes so he wasn’t able to come over to the Tarly house for dinner so it’s been just Grenn and the four girls. Well, Little Sam was there as well – obviously – but he’s not that big of a help when Grenn feels like he’s being ganged up on.

 

Grenn also wishes Jon was here this evening because his girlfriend is adamant on another Ouija board session and the whole thing just makes him nervous; especially considering what had happened during the last one.

 

Apparently, he’s the only one who’s feeling that way.

 

“It’ll be fine,” Val speaks up. “Gilly and I will be with her.”

 

“Yeah, but if what happened last time happens this time, you won’t actually be _with_ her.”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Sansa assures him. She then smiles. “Thank you for being worried.”

 

Grenn just frowns. Of course he’s worried. Sansa’s his friend and last time, when she had fainted and has been unconscious for the longest five minutes in the history of the world, it had been terrifying. He’s not looking forward to witnessing that again and he can’t figure out why Sansa actually is hoping that that happens again.

 

“Just do me a favor. _When_ Jon finds out about this, make sure that you tell him that I was dead against it.”

 

Sansa lets out a laugh and nods. “You got it.”

 

“Are we ready?” Gilly asks, nearly skipping into the kitchen with her Ouija board under her arm and an excited smile across her face.

 

Grenn mutters again to himself and goes to the refrigerator, tilting his head back and draining his current beer before reaching and getting another bottle from inside the door.

 

“What’s wrong?” Maddie asks in a quiet voice once she comes up to his side.

 

Grenn shakes his head and twisting the cap off, he tosses it into the trashcan, but doesn’t take a sip. He’ll drink it – he’s not one to waste beer – but he doesn’t know if he actually wanted it or if he just wanted something in his hands that he could focus on rather than what was about to happen.

 

“You know you can go downstairs to Sam’s man cave and play video games,” Maddie then suggests.

 

“You’re cool with this?” He looks to his girlfriend.

 

“With this?”

 

“This…” he waves his hand towards Gilly, Val and Sansa, setting up in the family room. “This mumbo jumbo. You’re cool with Sansa…” Again, he doesn’t know how to finish any of these sentences.

 

“If this is what Sansa wants to do, I want to help her. She believes that she can reach out to Bethany Blackwood and that Bethany had reached out to her last time.” Maddie pauses. “Do you believe in this?”

 

In all of their years dating, Maddie has found out that Grenn actually doesn’t believe in much. She understands. If she grew up in multiple group homes until she aged out of the system when she was eighteen, no one wanting her in all of that time, she would have a hard time believing in _anything_.

 

Grenn shakes his head and leans back against the refrigerator door, one of Little Sam’s colorings, hung with magnets, crinkling behind his back. “I just don’t believe in messing with things and opening doors that shouldn’t be opened.”

 

Maddie isn’t sure what to say to that. Not that she’s really thought of it before – even with being friends with Gilly and having more than one Ouija board session – but she supposes that Grenn makes a good point. Some things in this world – or _another_ world – just shouldn’t be messed with.

 

But Sansa had told them all about it during dinner. How she had been able to see things and she knows it sounds absolutely insane, but she doesn’t doubt that it had actually happened to her and she had spoken with so much conviction, Maddie – and she knows Val and Gilly, too – believed her.

 

“We’re ready,” Gilly tells them. “Grenn, are you going to stay?”

 

“Jon will kill me if he finds out I knew about this and that I left.”

 

Grenn pushes himself off the refrigerator and taking Maddie’s hand, he leads her into the family room. Val has lit a few candles – he know for ambiance – and he settles himself down in one of the recliners as the girls settle on the floor around the coffee table where the Ouija board has been set up.

 

He looks to Sansa as she listens to Gilly give her usual instructions – the tips of fingers, don’t push, Sansa will be the one leading this session – and he wonders if he should send a text to Jon. He knows he’s teaching, but Grenn feels like Jon should know what’s going on tonight.

 

Grenn knows Jon loves Sansa. Everyone knows that. Little Sam probably knows that. The man is an obvious, besotted sap. Grenn keeps meaning to tell him that he better not propose to Sansa before Grenn can do the same thing to Maddie. She’s been as patient as any amazing girlfriend would be. She’s never even dropped hints that she wants Grenn to buy a ring and sink onto one knee in front of her, but he has a feeling that if Jon and Sansa become engaged – after months of dating while she and Grenn have been together for _years_ – those hints might start in full force.

 

He also thinks of the last Ouija board session when Sansa had screamed and fallen backwards. Gilly and Val called it “making contact” and she was in a deep sleep. Grenn didn’t care what anyone called it. It had been scary as hell and if that’s what Sansa actually _wants_ to happen again, Grenn feels like he has a responsibility to his best mate to let him know that his girlfriend is openly seeking contact with ghosts. Again.

 

As all of the girls close their eyes, Grenn pulls his phone from his back pocket, trying to stay silent as he wiggles about to get it out.

 

…

 

This time, she doesn’t feel someone touch her and she doesn’t hear a scream. She does see the same low fog though and the same sensation of falling backwards. It happens so quickly this time; as if Bethany has been waiting for her and had pulled her in immediately.

 

This time, when Sansa opens her eyes, she expects the same light blue sky and the same white perfect puffs of clouds over her head. However, though she’s laying in the same field of tall grass, it’s dark. Overhead, there are millions of twinkling stars, visible without lights of modern towns and cities to block them out.

 

“Again?”

 

Sansa pushes herself up on her elbows. Despite it being so dark and not having any light to see by, she’s still able to see Harry standing in front of her perfectly.

 

“Again,” she nods.

 

“Come on then,” Harry reaches down and Sansa holds out her hands, Harry grasping a hold of them before gently pulling her up to her feet. “We have to get going.”

 

“Where are we going?” She asks as she holds onto Harry’s hand, following him through the field.

 

She can’t see, but she knows that they’re going to same way they had gone when they had gone to the wedding celebration. Harry doesn’t answer though and soon, ahead of them, Sansa can see a Keep rising in front of them, torch light appearing from sconces on the walls and either side of the open bridge that is drawn down over the creek that flows past. There are guards on night watch, but of course, she and Harry walk right past.

 

The Blackwood Keep. Sansa tries to look at everything – every single detail – even as Harry’s steps are quick and she wishes it was daylight so she’d be able to see everything much clearer. She must remember everything though. These details only add to her story.

 

“Harry,” she whispers his name though she knows no one can hear them. “Where are we going?”

 

Outside of a closed door, Harry finally turns to Sansa and lifting his hands, he puts them on either side of her head, tilting her face up so they can look at one another.

 

“You have to put your mind in the right place,” Harry says.

 

Sansa doesn’t know why, but she feels her stomach knot. “What’s happening?” Something not good. That’s obvious and suddenly, she’s cold. A torch is burning in the sconce right outside of the door where they stand and Sansa can feel the flames licking her skin, but she still feels a chill sweep across her skin. “Harry…” she whispers his name as tears begin to build in her eyes. “What’s happening?” She asks again, not understand her sudden emotions, but somehow, she knows it’s all warranted.

 

“Bethany’s dying tonight.”

 

She feels the air leave the corridor in a great vacuum and Sansa gasps, her lungs burning as all oxygen leaves. The tears begin trickling down her cheeks and she tries to take breaths, each one shaking and shuddering.

 

She remembers Harry’s last gasps. Sometimes, she can still hear it. She can still remember exactly how it had sounded when he took his last breath, a choked inhale and then a sputtering exhale and then Harry was gone. She had screamed as the firemen were cutting through the metal of the car – screaming Harry’s name – and wanting to get to Harry, but she hadn’t been able to get to him.

 

That had been the worst. Not being able to get him. Hearing him choking and gasping for breath and she hadn’t been able to get to him.

 

Just thinking about it now, she gasps, too, trying to breathe as the tears are pouring from her eyes now. Harry pulls her into a hug, his arms tight around her, and Sansa clings to him, weeping into his chest and the material of his polo shirt. Her legs are growing weak beneath her, but Harry is holding her so tightly, Sansa knows that he won’t let her fall.

 

She’s not certain how long she cries. She thinks time might move differently here; or not move at all.

 

But eventually, she feels Harry’s lips to her head. “Do you want to do this?” He then asks her quietly.

 

Sansa thinks she’ll hesitate or flat-out refuse, but Bethany is on the other side of this door and Sansa knows that she needs to see her. No matter what she’s about to witness, Sansa knows that she needs to see Bethany.

 

“I want to do this,” she nods and her voice is strong. Somehow, she knows that she  _has_ to do this.

 

Harry looks into her eyes, as if to make sure, and then with a nod, he holds onto her hand with one of his and pushes open the door with his other. Sansa is surprised at what she finds. The fire is roaring in the hearth, a few candles are lit, and there is a man and woman sitting in chairs, side by side, next to the bed. She had expected a flurry of activity, maids rushing to and fro, but it’s quiet. So quiet. And then she looks to the young woman lying in the bed. _She_ is lying in the bed.

 

Bethany’s skin is so pale and visibly dotted with sweat. Her cheeks are sunken and it looks as if she hasn’t eaten in weeks. Sansa holds Harry’s hand tighter as she looks to the girl she’s never met, but feels like she knows so well by this point. Bethany is still breathing, but it’s quiet and weak.

 

Everything is so _quiet_. The woman at her bedside – who Sansa thinks is probably Lady Blackwood – is visibly crying, but even her sobs and tears are quiet. The man – Lord Tytos, Sansa knows without a doubt – sits as still as wood, his face stoic as he looks to his only daughter, passing away before his eyes.

 

And because it’s so quiet, Sansa can hear the next words spoken in the room – as soft as cotton landing on snow. Bethany’s eyes are half-mast and her lips part, gathering her strength. She then opens her eyes fully and when she opens them, she looks right past her parents and they land on Sansa.

 

Sansa nearly stumbles back a step as Bethany’s eyes – _Sansa’s_ eyes – land right on her as if anyone and everyone is able to see her and Harry.

 

“But I loved him,” Bethany whispers and Sansa feels her heart twist in her chest.

 

She finds herself nodding. “I know you did,” Sansa whispers back. She can _feel_ it.

 

With one great sigh, the last breath Bethany Blackwood takes in this world exhales from her chest and then she’s gone. And when she’s gone, Sansa falls down onto her knees.

 

 

…

 

As promised, Grenn is waiting on the front porch for him when Jon’s car flies into the driveway, nearly rear-ending Val’s car. He barely gives himself the time to turn the engine off and take his key from the ignition before he’s racing from the car and running up the steps to the front porch. He doesn’t even say anything to Grenn as he flies past him. He’s not even aware of Grenn coming behind him.

 

In the family room, it’s just as it was before. Sansa is lying on the floor. Maddie has gotten her a pillow to rest her head on and is kneeling on one side of her. As she did the last time, Sansa simply looks as if she’s sleeping. Jon slowly lowers himself to his knees at her other side and touches her cheek. She’s warm. He doesn’t know what he was expecting.

 

Her eyelids are fluttering as if she is dreaming, but still, she remains peaceful and her breath is steady.

 

Jon’s own heart is pounding and he looks to Gilly and Val, both looking completely unphased. “I want to go in,” he then tells them. He doesn’t even know what the words mean, exactly, but he thinks they’re the right ones to say. He doesn’t believe in any of this, but looking at Sansa right now, how can he not?

 

Val is the one to shake her head. “We don’t know where she is, Jon.”

 

“Yes, you do. This whole thing tonight was about Bethany Blackwood. Whatever Sansa asked the board, I’ll ask that, too.”

 

“It won’t work, Jon,” Gilly tells him. “Bethany _wanted_ Sansa.”

 

“I don’t care, Gilly,” Jon snaps even though he doesn’t mean to. He can’t help it though. His heart is racing and he doesn’t care where Sansa is. He just knows he has to go to where she is. “Just… can’t we try?”

 

“Of course we can, Jon,” Maddie speaks up. “I remember what Sansa asked. We can try it.” She then looks to Gilly and Val for confirmation. Jon looks to them, too.

 

He doesn’t want to call them experts – how the fuck can anyone be experts about this? – but they definitely know more about this mumbo jumbo than anyone else. He waits as they have a silent conversation and he nearly snaps again, telling them to hurry the fuck up. He can hear his heart pounding in his ears and he feels out of breath as if he’s just finished a marathon.

 

He’s scared. He’ll be man enough and admit that – to himself. But nothing will keep him from doing this. He doesn’t know where Sansa is or what’s happening to her. He has no idea if he’ll be able to go anywhere she is, but sitting here, waiting for her to come back, is not something he’s going to do.

 

“Come on, Jon,” Grenn suddenly appears and he kneels down at the coffee table. “We’re doing it.”

 

Gilly and Val don’t argue and as the four situate themselves around the coffee table and the Ouija board, Jon leans down and gives Sansa a kiss on the forehead, leaving his lips there a moment, before he goes to join them at the Ouija board, too.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. This chapter completely drained me. My sister passed away four years ago from a brain tumor and I was with her when she took her last breath. I can still hear it perfectly in my head and I was definitely channeling that when I wrote the Sansa scenes. In the next chapter, Jon is able to follow - though he might end up quite not where Sansa has gone. This story is actually winding down - finally! lol - but there's still a few chapters to go. Thank you again to those still with me.


	32. ...To Go Forward

…

 

 **Thirty-Two.** …To Go Forward.

 

For a moment or two after Bethany’s last breath and she has passed on, there is absolute silent in the chamber. Even Sansa, sobbing, finds that she’s doing it silently. On her knees on the hard, stone floor, Harry kneels next to her, rubbing a hand on her back.

 

Tytos stands up first and goes to the chamber door, stepping outside for a moment. Sansa can hear him instructing someone to gather the necessary people to prepare his daughter’s body for burial. Sansa lifts her head and watches as Lady Blackwood moves from her chair to sit on the edge of the bed, picking up her daughter’s hand and leaning over, brushing red hair back from Bethany’s face.

 

“Be happy, my love,” Lady Blackwood whispers – but Sansa hears the words perfectly – and she then leans forward, resting her lips to her daughter’s forehead for a moment before pulling herself back.

 

Her eyes are wet and yet, she still looks the picture of composure. That’s amazing to Sansa. Her one and only daughter has just died and the woman is able to keep herself from crumbling on the ground in agony. But Tytos enters the room again and Sansa looks at the man. If the man feels _anything_ about Bethany’s passing, he is masterful at hiding it.

 

“Can I… Can I get closer to him?” Sansa asks Harry.

 

“If you want to,” he smirks a bit. “I’d rather sooner get closer to a crocodile myself.”

 

Sansa is able to get to her feet once more and she approaches Bethany’s father, who obviously can’t see her. She takes note of his facial features, his dark red hair, peppered with more gray now than red; his short, stocky figure. She will have to change her descriptions of him in her book. For some reason, she had imagined Lord Tytos Blackwood to be taller.

 

The thing though that truly stands out to Sansa about this man though is his reaction to his daughter’s death. He’s certainly not weeping like his wife, but there seems to be little mourning at all. He looks down at his daughter and Sansa can see him clench his jaw. Of all things, Tytos seems… _furious_.

 

“Tytos,” he wife then begins to say.

 

“I’ve made my decision,” he swiftly cuts her off and as the dutiful wife she, more than likely, was raised to be, Lady Blackwood did not argue – whatever this decision and possible argument is about. “She wants to be in love with a Bracken, she can spend eternity without the Blackwood name,” his words are harsh, but that’s not why Sansa gasps and takes a step back from the man.

 

Bethany’s blank gravestone. Tytos had allowed his daughter to be buried with the rest of House Blackwood in the family cemetery, but he wouldn’t acknowledge her and he had made sure that no one else ever did. That was what Benji Blackwood from Cairns had meant. She just kind of faded away. That was what her father had wanted and no one had been able to argue with him – even if they wanted to – because he was Lord and what he said was the way it went.

 

Bethany was a Blackwood who had fallen in love with a Bracken and for that, her father chose to forget her and cause everyone to forget her as well.

 

Sansa looks to the man again, grateful that this is a memory of the past and both she and Harry are completely invisible to things that had already happened. Sansa has imagined that Bethany had loved her father – Sansa has been able to feel that for herself – but she had fallen in love with a man her father would never approve of. She hadn’t gotten a life with Harry and her father had erased her life from the world.

 

There is no happy ending here, but Sansa’s mind is already figuring out how to give Bethany and Harry just that in her book. They deserve it. Bethany deserves for people to know her name and know that she was just a girl like any girl who had fallen in love.

 

She looks away from Tytos and she looks to Bethany’s body on the bed before looking to Harry once again.

 

“We never got a happy ending,” Sansa speaks the thought on her mind.

 

Harry shrugs and gives her a soft smile. “If I had lived, we might not have gotten one that way either.”

 

Sansa swallows thickly. “But we would have still been able to say goodbye.”

 

He tilts his head to the side at that, studying her. “Do you want to say goodbye to me?” He asks.

 

He has told her repeatedly over the past few years that she needs to say goodbye to him, but Sansa has never wanted to. She’s never been ready. Saying goodbye, that’s as final as it can get, and yes, Harry is dead and has been for quite some time now, but having him still visit her, she still has him in a way. Saying goodbye to him, never seeing him again – slowly having his face and voice fade – Sansa has never been prepared for that.

 

She met Jon Snow then and she has fallen completely in love with the man. She doesn’t doubt that Jon is her soulmate – though she hasn’t told him that because although she knows Jon loves her deeply, she also knows that the man’s brain is completely logical and he more than likely doesn’t believe in soulmates.

 

Still, it’s already beginning to happen. The more and more time spent with Jon and the deeper she falls for him, Harry doesn’t come around nearly as often. Is that her doing? Her mind telling her it’s time to let go and she just hasn’t allowed herself to acknowledge it?

 

She looks at Harry now and she tastes salty wetness at the corner of her mouth. She’s not surprised that more tears are streaming down her cheeks.

 

“I’m ready,” she whispers.

 

Bethany hadn’t been able to say goodbye to her Harry, but Sansa is able to say goodbye to hers.

 

“About time, sexy beast,” Harry grins that Harry grin of his and Sansa laughs through her tears.

 

And then she is in Harry’s arms, crying against his neck, holding onto him as he holds onto her. She closes her eyes, wanting to remember his scent even though he still smells like that God-awful Axe body spray he insisted on wearing no matter how many times Sansa complained about it. For the rest of her life, she’ll never be able to smell it again without instantly thinking of Harry. And every time she gets a craving for and goes to get a bacon cheeseburger, she’ll think of Harry, too.

 

Maybe, someday, she and Jon will have a baby who will grow to love to skateboard just like Harry. Harry won’t be forgotten and he won’t fade away. Even if she will no longer be seeing him, she won’t let it happen.

 

“I love you, Harry,” she whispers, her arms tightening around him even more. “I love you so, so much.”

 

“I love you, too, Sansa,” he whispers back and he puts a hand on the back of her head like he always did when they hugged – or kissed – and his other arm is tight around her waist. “Be happy.” He kisses her on her temple and Sansa is able to give him one more smile.

 

Those are the last words Harry Hardyng says to her and the last thing Sansa sees of him is that grin of his before he places his hand gently over her eyes and sends her back.

 

…

 

No wonder Sansa had screamed the first time this happened. Jon nearly screams himself before he is able to stop it in his throat. He’s falling. And falling. And falling some more. And he very much feels like Alice all of a sudden as she falls down the rabbit hole. Is that what’s happening to him right now? Where is he falling to? None of this is real, he knows, and yet, he doesn’t have any other explanation for it.

 

He braces his body for impact – _surely_ he’ll be landing soon – but when he does, it’s as soft and gentle as a flurry of snow finally landing after whirling in the air for a bit. Jon opens his eyes when he feels the firm ground beneath him, but instantly slams them shut again with a groan. Gods, where the hell is he where the sun is that bright?

 

“You and Sansa are running me ragged,” a voice suddenly speaks, startling Jon into opening his eyes again.

 

He doesn’t see anyone at first, but then, he pushes himself up into a sitting position to see a young man – a teenager – standing in front of him. It takes less than a second for Jon to know who he is. From the newspaper article, the picture in Sansa’s bedroom and the picture the Starks have framed in their family room from when his and Sansa’s graduation, Jon is very aware of who this kid is.

 

“Harry?” His eyes see him right in front of him, but his brain isn’t allowing himself to actually believe this.

 

“The one and only,” Harry grins. “And you’re the hot fox, Jon Snow.”

 

Jon pauses at that and then smiles a little. “Sansa didn’t call me a hot fox,” he shakes his head.

 

“No, she didn’t, but if she was still in high school, she would have.” Harry steps forward and offers his hand. Jon takes it – still having no idea what the hell is going on, but figuring the best thing to do is just along with it.

 

Once on his feet, Jon looks around, not recognizing where they are. The sun is bright, the green grass is tall and he can hear the running of a creek.

 

“Sansa’s not here,” Jon looks back to Harry. “I wanted to go where Sansa was.”

 

“That’s great, but you weren’t pulled in to go where she was. You’re supposed to see something else.”

 

“What is this place?” Jon asks, figuring he can ask one question – even though none of this is real. He and Harry begin walking in a particular direction through the tall grass.

 

“Stone Hedge in the third century and what you’re going to see, it’s already happened.”

 

Well, that is something Jon definitely hadn’t been expecting Harry to say, but he supposes it makes sense; if _any_ of this could even be considered to make sense. Sansa thinks Bethany Blackwood has been in contact with her and Bethany Blackwood lived in the third century. When Jon had wanted to follow Sansa through the Ouija board – no matter how many times he says it, he’ll never believe that that’s what has actually happened - he would go to where Bethany Blackwood would be. Or so he thought.

 

But then he hears something that stops him in his tracks and he feels cold shoot down his spine.

 

A sword fight.

 

“Come on, Snow,” Harry says, looking at him from over his shoulder. “The sooner you see, the sooner you can get back to your girl. I already sent Sansa back.”

 

That gets Jon walking again after him. “She’s not our girl?” Jon asks and he wonders why the hell he did.

 

Harry smiles a little and shakes his head. “You don’t think I’ve been competition for you, do you?”

 

The way he asks it, Jon knows it’s supposed to make him feel stupid for thinking a dead kid is competition, but Jon doesn’t think there’s anything stupid about it.

 

“She loved you,” Jon states.

 

“ _Loved_. She loves you now. You’re the only one she’s going to love. Sansa knows that without a doubt.”

 

Jon wants to ask how he knows that Sansa knows that, but this isn’t even a conversation he should be having in the first place. He’s never believed in ghosts and even though he’s walking at Sansa’s dead boyfriend’s side, he’s not going to believe in them now.

 

But even if he _does_ want to ask, he can’t because just then, he and Harry come around the corner of a building and there, in the open field next to the rushing creek, there are two men engaged in a sword fight. Jon’s breath catches in his throat. One man has copper-red hair and the other…

 

Jon nearly trips over his own feet.

 

“Careful,” Harry murmurs, his hand catching Jon’s arm. “You’re just as bad as Sansa when she saw Bethany.”

 

“What…” but that’s the only thing Jon can get out as he stares at the two men fighting.

 

Jon knows what this is without needing Harry to explain. This is the sword fight between Robert Blackwood, Bethany’s brother, and… Harry Rivers, who looks exactly like Jon. What the fuck is he looking at right now?

 

“Isn’t this what you do, Rivers?” Robert is asking him between their blows. “Promise girls the world and then toss them aside for the next one? You did it to that nice girl and got her with child before moving onto my sister. My sister!” His sword comes down to Harry’s head, but the other blocks it with his own sword.

 

The clash of metal makes Jon’s teeth vibrate.

 

“I love your sister,” Harry responds. “She’s the only one I’ve loved.”

 

“You’re useless, Rivers. Just a bastard never claimed by anyone.”

 

Harry responds to that by gaining the attack position, pushing Robert closer and closer to the creek, and as Robert fights off his blows, he reaches for the dagger at his waist. Jon can’t blink; can’t breathe. He doesn’t even cringe at the ensuing struggle that ends with Harry managing to turn the dagger around and plunge it into Robert’s chest, upwards into his heart.

 

The man falls, his body crumpling to the ground, and Harry falls to his knees next to him, breathing heavily. Jon finds himself taking steps forward and Harry doesn’t stop him. Harry just comes with him, silent, as Jon kneels down on the ground, staring at Robert Blackwood’s body and then looking at… looking at _himself_.

 

 _How_ is he looking at himself? Is this truly him? Or… his Grandma Morgana has mentioned that they have some Bracken blood in their family tree – because of Harry and the child he had had with another woman before he met and fell in love with Bethany. Is that why he looks like Harry’s twin? Because so many generations before, Bracken blood had mixed with theirs?

 

Tears are streaming down Harry’s cheeks, streaking through the dirt on his face, and Jon knows Harry can’t see him or even feel him, but this still feels like it needs to be said. Jon knows that this is what Sansa would say if she was kneeling next to Harry Rivers right now.

 

“Bethany loved you,” Jon tells the man. “And you weren’t useless.”

 

Jon has to wonder if Harry hadn’t gotten that farm girl pregnant, centuries before, would Jon be here at all?

 

Harry lifts his head then and Jon holds his breath. _Had_ the memory of Harry Rivers hear him?

 

But the man then stands up and Jon stands up, too, watching as Harry pulls out his own small dagger. Jon already know exactly what the man is going to do and he wishes he could do something to stop him, but all of this has already happened. This is all just the past’s memory.

 

Gods, how many things like this happened in the history of the world that _no one_ knows about?

 

He thinks of Sansa and that first time she came into his office to ask about House Blackwood and House Bracken, neither knowing just what her questions would lead to.

 

_The parts of history I’m interested in, I’m never able to find any books about._

Jon doesn’t need to watch Harry to know what he’s going to do next, but he does anyway. He doesn’t believe any of this is happening, but he wants to remember every detail to tell Sansa when he sees her again; though he already knows there’s no way Sansa is going to include this in her book.

 

Taking his dagger with him, Harry goes to the edge of the creek and putting his back to the water, Jon winces as Harry doesn’t even hesitate as he runs the blade across his own throat and the creek releases a great splash as Harry’s body falls into the water.

 

Jon keeps standing there, staring at the spot Harry had stood in just a moment before, and the other Harry comes to stand at his side again. Jon doesn’t know what to say. None of this is real, and yet, Jon turns his head to look at the taller teenager standing next to him. From what he knows of ghosts – which is strictly from horror movies – Jon expected him to look as he did the night he died with blood and gashes from the accident.

 

But instead, Harry just looks like a good-looking kid.

 

“Take care of her, yeah?” Harry breaks the silence, turning towards him.

 

Jon nods without pause, turning to face him. “I will,” he promises.

 

“I know you will.” And with that, Harry puts his hand over Jon’s eyes and Jon feels himself falling again.

 

_… “He’s coming around” …_

That’s Gilly’s voice, he recognizes it, even with it sounding underwater. And then gently, he sways back down to feel the carpet of Gilly and Sam’s family room floor beneath him. After another moment, his eyes are able to flutter open and the first person – the _only_ person – he sees is Sansa as she kneels next to him, her face above his, with tears shimmering in her twinkling eyes and a happy smile across her lips.

 

“Hi,” Jon says and Sansa lets out a soft laugh.

 

“Hi,” she says back before lowering her head and greeting his lips with her own.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to post this chapter later this evening, but I couldn't wait. I was too excited. This is another chapter that took it out of me, emotionally, but I love it so much. I hope you love it, too! Thank you in advance for reading and your kind words!


	33. Starting Again

…

 

 **Thirty-Three.** Starting Again.

_“But I love him,” Bethany told her mother with tears in her eyes, still not moving away from the window._

_Lady Blackwood hesitated and then stepped fully into her daughter’s chamber, closing the door behind her, making sure it was securely bolted. Without a word, she crossed the room, unclasping the jeweled necklace from around her neck._

_“Mother, no-” Bethany began to shake her head in protest, already knowing what her mother intended._

_“You and Harry will need money in Essos,” she said as she carefully wrapped the necklace in some of her daughter’s dresses already folded away into the pack over Bethany’s shoulder._

Sansa’s fingers fly. They haven’t stopped flying for hours now and she knows, from the outline she has in her head, that she can finish this tonight. She just needs to get Bethany and Harry on a boat to Essos – as it should have been all of those centuries before; and without a pregnant farm girl being left behind and no dead brother. Yes, Sansa has decided to obviously change a few things and omit other things completely – what Jon told her he saw, she is definitely leaving from her story – but it’s her story and she feels like Bethany and Harry would more than be alright with her changes; changes they would have made themselves if they could.

 

After months of research – and a couple of Ouija board sessions – she is almost done with her book. As expected, she will have a lot of editing to do once she’s finished the first draft. She doesn’t care what Jon tells her. Yes, she loves Bethany, but _no one_ will want to read 466 pages about her.

 

Jon has gone to bed hours earlier. He has one of his introductory classes taking their final exam at eight a.m. tomorrow and he needs to be at the college bright and early – to sit at his desk for three hours and make sure that none of the one-hundred plus students in the lecture hall are cheating.

 

Sansa tried to go to sleep, too, but after nearly an hour of lying next to him, listening to his deep, steady breathing, she knew it was futile. Sleep was not going to be coming to her anytime soon. So with a kiss to Jon’s cheek, Sansa crept from the bedroom with Ghost and Lady following after her so she could write in the living room without her clacking fingers on the keys bother Jon.

 

Jon has told her to treat his flat like her own, but still, Sansa hopes it’s alright she’s using his desk in the living room for her writing space. And when she prints, she’ll buy him more paper to replace what she has used. She admits that she doesn’t know what it means when Jon tells her to “be at home” in his flat, but Sansa knows that she wants to learn. She’s _ready_ to learn.

 

Bringing her left leg up to the chair and hugging it to her chest – Ghost is sleeping on her right foot – Sansa picks up Brynden Blackwood’s journal, flipping through the pages. She has read this so many times already, she wouldn’t doubt if she has it memorized, but she still looks to make sure she hasn’t missed anything.

 

She has assumed that Bethany died of fever – and Bethany hasn’t reached out to tell her that she’s wrong. In Brynden’s journal, he made an entry about some of the pigs dying from a sickness and perhaps, Bethany had eaten a piece of spoiled pork. Something as simple as that. But Sansa also thinks… remembering the way Bethany had laid in her bed with sweat dotting her skin and her hallowed cheeks and grey skin, perhaps… a broken heart had played a part in it as well.

 

It doesn’t matter though what she died from because Bethany won’t die; not in Sansa’s story to her. Bethany and Harry are going to Essos to live and be together forever and that’s that.

 

An hour later, Sansa is smiling to herself as she stands at Jon’s printer, watching the pages she has newly written spit out to be joined with the already thick stack that is her manuscript. Her chest feels light and despite the late hour, she wants to text all of her family and friends and tell them she’s finished.

 

Final page count – 470 and the final scene is of Bethany and Harry – alive and well – on a boat for Essos. The way it should have been.

 

Sansa makes sure everything is shut down and the lights are all off once again before she heads back to bed, Ghost and Lady trotting after her. In the bedroom, instead of getting back in straight away, Sansa stands at the foot of the bed and looks to Jon, sleeping. Tonight, he’s wearing black sweatpants and a grey tee-shirt to sleep in, sprawled on his back. Gods, Sansa loves him. She loves him so much and just looking at him now, she smiles because even if it’s doing something as simple as watching him sleep, she feels happy while doing it.

 

She knows he needs his sleep, but she can’t help herself. She has finished her book and Jon is the very first person she wants to tell.

 

Slowly, she crawls onto the bed and over Jon’s body. Carefully, she begins pushing his tee-shirt up so she is able to see his bare stomach and chest. She is absolutely insane for her boyfriend’s upper body; she’ll be the first to admit it. She doesn’t touch him, but she knows her hair is tickling his skin because he begins to shift. And when Sansa does finally touch him, leaning down to press a kiss right over his heart, Jon’s breathing has changed and she’s not startled when he feels his fingers in her hair.

 

“I’m sorry,” she tells him, lifting her eyes to find him looking at her. “I know you need your sleep.”

 

“Not _that_ badly,” he replies, his voice still a little thickly coated with sleep, and Sansa smiles as he gently guides her head over his and she lowers herself down on top of him, kissing him.

 

Sex with Jon is still so amazing to her. She wonders if it always will be or if there will come a day when she’s used to it. She doesn’t know if she wants that to happen. Just the way he kisses her and the way he roams his hands all over her body and how hot and wet he can make her just from the way he nips down her throat or murmurs in her ear how beautiful she is and how hard she gets him.

 

Jon has gotten Sansa’s tee-shirt off, tossing it away somewhere, and his own tee-shirt is off as well when Sansa remembers that there _was_ reason as to why she climbed on top of him.

 

“I finished,” she is able to say, her breath short, hardly able to get the words out at all.

 

She thinks Jon might not know what she’s talking about – might think that she’s talking about finishing _this_ before he even gets her underwear off – but instead, he pulls his head back from where he’s kissing her neck, heading down towards her breasts – her nipples shouting in protest – and he looks up to her face, holding her hair back so he gets an unobstructed view.

 

“You finished?” His smile appearing and growing. It makes Sansa smile, too.

 

“470 pages of finished,” she beams and can’t help, but state it proudly.

 

“We have to celebrate!” Jon decides.

 

“I thought we were,” Sansa teases before boldly pressing her lower half against his. She watches as Jon’s eyes close at the contact and his fingers dig into the skin of her hips, his throat visibly bobbing down and then up.

 

Another thing in regards to sex with Jon is he is always up for anything she wants to try. He knows he’s only her second partner – and she had hardly experimented with Harry – and he had told her that there had only been two other women before her; Ygritte in college, a long-term girlfriend, and then Dany, a grad school mistake that had lasted far longer than he ever anticipated. Jon always wants Sansa to know – in case she ever got self-conscious in bed with him – that he is, by no means, some kind of sex expert.

 

She’s learned something with Jon even after her few times before him being in the cramped backseat of a car. Sometimes, she really, _really_ loves being on top; and Jon certainly doesn’t make any argument with her there.

 

Tonight is one of those nights.

 

Sansa is so glad – once they have stripped the rest of their pajamas off and Sansa sinks on top of him, both groaning at the sensation of being connected again – that she decided to go on birth control. She believes Jon when he told her that he didn’t mind buying and using condoms and Sansa hadn’t particularly minded either. But there’s just something… _wonderful_ about being able to feel Jon and just Jon inside of her.

 

She gasps when Jon grasps her hips and thrusts up into her and she then falls forward, kissing him again, still moving her body against his.

 

She hopes she won’t be on birth control forever because _they’ll_ be together forever.

 

Sansa hopes Jon hopes for that, too.

 

…

 

Sansa has been walking the 10K Run/Walk for the MS Research Foundation of Westeros event with Sam, Gilly and Little Sam in his stroller as well as Val’s sister, Dalla, who was diagnosed with MS and the reason why Val and their friends are all here this weekend.

 

Val, Mance – Dalla’s husband – Grenn and Maddie had all decided to run the six miles, Dalla encouraging both Val and Mance when they hesitated about leaving her. After some gentle prodding from Sansa that it _is_ for a good cause – whether 100% or not of their donations go towards it – Jon had signed up to run as well. Val and Dalla both had been speechless when Sansa handed them a check from her parents to donate. As always, Ned and Catelyn have gone above and beyond if it is in regards to something their children ask for.

 

At the starting line, Jon had given Sansa a kiss on the cheek and with her laughter ringing out after him, he had gone off, soon lost in the crowd of others who are participating in the event.

 

Sansa certainly doesn’t mind the view of her boyfriend running off, his hair pulled back in a knot and his butt looking absolutely _fantastic_ in his black running shorts and the muscles of his upper body moving beneath the blue tee-shirt everyone had received upon registration.

 

“I’m sorry,” Dalla says – not for the first time – as her steps are a little off kilter and she bumps into Sansa.

 

Sansa had read up on Multiple Sclerosis before this afternoon and she’s doesn’t understand it completely, but MS affects the nerve cells in the brain and spinal cord, damaging them, and it results in so many difficulties and life changes for those infected. Balance and walking are certainly two of those things.

 

“I’m still getting used to walking like a drunk toddler,” Dalla adds with a smile though Sansa can see that the woman’s cheeks are pink with embarrassment.

 

Though they had just met an hour earlier, Sansa loops her arm through the other woman’s with ease.

 

“I hadn’t noticed,” Sansa says with an easy smile and it makes Dalla smile, too. “I was in a terrible car accident when I was eighteen. They had to cut a part of my skull away because my brain was swelling so badly. My dad took some videos of me in the rehabilitation center when I first began to walk again. I can show you them if you _really_ want to see a drunk toddler.”

 

She’s never talked her accident and the rehab afterwards so openly with anyone who isn’t her family or Jon, but now, she finds that the words flow freely.

 

“Were you really?” Sam asks, he and Gilly walking next to them and obviously having overheard; not that Sansa had said anything in a lower voice.

 

“I don’t think she’d lie about it, Sam,” Gilly tells her husband with a smile.

 

“Thank you,” Dalla whispers to her then and Sansa smiles, squeezing her arm with hers and keeping them looped together, not telling her, but letting Dalla know all the same that if she wants to bump into her, she is more than alright to.

 

Sansa looks ahead to see a familiar man coming back to them.

 

“What’s wrong?” She asks Jon with a confused frown.

 

Jon just sighs and shakes his head, walking backwards so he keeps facing them all. He then looks to Sam. “Grenn’s an idiot,” is all he says.

 

Gilly, Sansa and Dalla all look to Sam to see if he knows what Jon is talking about and it seems he does because he just smiles. He reaches into the basket at the bottom of Little Sam’s stroller and pulls out a small bottle of Gatorade, holding it out for Jon to take.

 

“Tell him I think he’s an idiot,” Sam states and Jon breaks into a grin.

 

“I’ll tell him once Maddie takes a break from berating him,” Jon promises. He leans in and gives Sansa another kiss on the cheek before he turns and takes off running once more.

 

The three women keep looking at Sam, awaiting an explanation of any kind.

 

Sam keeps smiling. “Grenn isn’t the best at pacing himself. He likes to sprint,” is all he says.

 

“Poor Maddie,” Sansa says before she even realizes that she had and once she does, her eyes widen and she slaps a hand over her mouth, Gilly and Dalla bursting out with laughter and when Sam joins in – always loving a good laugh at a friend’s expense – Sansa starts laughing, too.

 

…

 

“I don’t know why I bother,” Jeor Mormont mutters to himself as he marks another answer on the exam in front of him wrong with his ever-trusty red marker.

 

Some professors have begun to teach their classes online and Jeor has always scoffed at that, but at the end of each semester during exam week, he can somewhat see the appeal. Putting the lectures and study guides online surely must be better than standing in front of students for hours and hours each week, clearly wasting his breath if this stack of exams is anything to go by.

 

When he hears a knock on his closed office door, he is fully prepared to ignore it. It’s probably just a student looking to see if they can retake the exam; or take it for the first time because they missed it for some reason.

 

But he admits, he _is_ curious. Students are getting more creative with their reasons for needing a re-do. “My dog ate my homework” is far in the past.

 

“Enter!” He barks out.

 

The door opens slowly and he recognizes Sansa Stark poking her head into the room. She can’t be here to ask for a re-do. She aced the exam and the History of the Night’s Watch course. And it’s the end of the semester and the college has broken for summer vacation. Why one of his best students would still be around is a mystery.

 

“Ms. Stark,” he beckons her in.

 

She has that black canvas messenger bag she always has on her shoulder and in her arms is a very thick stack of white papers. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Mormont,” she says with a small smile.

 

“I beg that you do,” he sweeps a hand to the empty chair across from him. “I’m sorry to say, Ms. Stark, but with every year, I weep more and more for the future. I need to just retire and go home to Bear Island where I can spend the rest of my days, fishing and ignoring humanity.”

 

Sansa smiles as she sits down, setting her bag on the floor and the papers in her lap. “But who would frighten the students in the history department like you do?”

 

“You flatter me. Give Snow a few more years. He’ll fill my shoes nicely,” Jeor smiles and Sansa does, too.

 

He supposes it’s a secret, but he doesn’t know why it should be. Jon Snow and Sansa Stark in a relationship with one another is far from the most scandalous thing to ever happen in this college’s history. They’re both adults and things like this sometimes happen between consenting adults.

 

“I was hoping you would be able to find some time to help me. I know you’re busy, grading exams, and I don’t expect you to drop everything and help me this very second, but…” Sansa looks down to the papers and Jeor can see her swallow as she lifts her eyes to him again. “I wrote a book. A history book.”

 

Jeor stares at her for a moment as if he is having difficulty understanding the words spoken from her mouth. And he supposes he is. In all of his years teaching, he has never had a student say such a thing like that to him.

 

“Well, a historical _fiction_ book,” Sansa amends and sitting forward in her chair, she sets the thick stack of papers down. “I need some help with editing and I would ask Jon or my father and brother. Both love history as well, but… well, obviously they’ll be bias and I need…”

 

“An old bear to tell you what’s what?” Jeor guesses.

 

Sansa smiles again, looking relieved. “Yes,” she nods. “I have to give full disclosure though. You’re not the target audience so I would appreciate it if you remember that while reading it.”

 

“Who is the target audience?” Jeor leans forward in his seat to take the pages, needing both hands to lift the pile up and he turns it towards him, looking to the cover page.

 

_The Daughter of Blackwood: a story of Bethany Blackwood_

_By Sansa Stark_

“I’m not familiar with her,” Jeor notes with a shake of his head. “Was she real?”

 

“Very much so,” Sansa nods. “And hopefully, by the end of the book – if you read it – you’ll be familiar with her.”

 

Jeor lifts his eyes to her. “Who is the target audience?” He asks again, having not let her answer before.

 

“Young adult,” she seems nervous to tell him that, but Jeor just gives her a small smile and looks back down to the papers. “I understand if you don’t have time… I’ve never written anything past school papers and journal entries before so it’s probably going to be torture for someone like you who reads actual history books all day.”

 

Jeor looks at her again. “Ms. Stark, you have written nearly five hundred pages. Not every seasoned author even writes that much or accomplishes such a feat. So rephrase your sentence to me.”

 

Sansa pauses, thinking it over for a moment. Her nerves slowly seem to fade and she gives him a small smile of her own. “I hope you like it, Mr. Mormont.”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end and I don't want this story to end because I love it so much, but I'm very excited for these few last chapters and can't stop from writing them. THANK YOU so much for reading and commenting as you do!


	34. Welcome

…

 

 **Thirty-Four.** Welcome.

“Are you nervous?” Jon asks as he opens the backdoor, allowing Ghost to hop out, his eyes on Sansa as she comes around to stand by the trunk of the car, her hands flattening down the skirt of her dress.

 

“Why would I be nervous?” She asks, doing her best to sound almost airy. “I mean, it’s just your mother and your grandparents and they’re the most important people in the world to you. Why would that ever make me nervous?” She questions.

 

Jon knows he shouldn’t smile, but he can’t help himself as he goes to her, circling his arms around her waist and bringing her body against his. “You’re the most important person in the world to me now, too, and the three people in this house are very aware of that. Also, you have all met each other already,” he reminds her.

 

Sansa nods at that and looks to her hands on his chest rather than to his face. “It’s just nerve-wracking. They’re your _mother_ and your _grandparents_ and I need to take a moment and just freak out, Jon.”

 

This time, he wants to smile again, but he is able to bite it back. Instead, he squeezes his arms around her. “I will give you exactly thirty seconds to freak out. If we’re any longer, my mom will come out looking for us.”

 

Sansa nods her head and he listens to her take a few deep breaths – inhaling and exhaling – and Jon doesn’t say anything; just letting her do what she needs to do, whether he thinks it’s completely ridiculous or not.

 

Lyanna has all, but bullied Jon to get Sansa over to the house for dinner and after weeks, Jon has finally asked Sansa if she would want to go. It’s not like he doesn’t want to show Sansa off on his arm at every available chance. He’s admittedly worried his mom and grandparents will do something that will horribly embarrass him; namely, busting out the baby photos or his mom showing Sansa every letter he wrote to Santa when he was a kid and which, of course, Lyanna had saved, laminating them no less.

 

“Alright now?” Jon asks after the thirty seconds and Sansa finally lifts her eyes to his. He smiles. “They love you. You know that, right?”

 

“That’s what you tell me,” Sansa replies, able to produce a small smile. “I just want them to think I’m good enough to be with you.”

 

“You’re crazy.” Jon leans in and gives her a soft kiss. “They already love you and after tonight, I guarantee that each of them, at different times, will tell me that _I_ better not screw this up with you.”

 

Sansa smiles again and Jon kisses her again.

 

“I love you,” she whispers.

 

“I love you, too,” he whispers back before going in for one more kiss.

 

“Jon, Seven Hells! Will you bring Sansa inside already?” Lyanna suddenly shouts from the front steps.

 

Jon closes his eyes and groans and Sansa laughs lightly.

 

“I told you she’d come looking for us,” he says, dropping his forehead dramatically onto her shoulder.

 

“Jon!” Lyanna shouts again and with one more groan, Jon lifts his head and takes his own deep breath, drawing strength from Sansa’s beautiful, beaming face. It seems like his mom yelling at him has diminished her own nerves, so Jon supposes he’ll put up with it if it helps Sansa.

 

Taking Sansa’s hand, he leads her up the front path to the front door. He’s not surprised when his mom basically ignores him to pull Sansa into a hug instead.

 

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here,” Lyanna says and Jon lets go of Sansa’s hand so she can hug Lyanna in return with both arms.

 

“It means so much to me that you would invite me,” Sansa says in response. “I was going to bake something and bring it with me, but Jon told me that I shouldn’t.”

 

“And he was absolutely right,” Lyanna nods. The women’s hug ends and Lyanna pulls back so she can look to Sansa with a smile. “My mother takes her desserts _very_ seriously. She basically looks at it as a declaration of war if anyone else does the baking. Even you, love.”

 

Sansa smiles and Jon can tell that she’s nearly completely relaxed now. He takes her hand again.

 

The Snow house is a bit smaller, a _lot_ smaller, than the Stark house – not that he thinks Sansa will care even one second about that or even notice – but he can’t help, but look to her when they step inside and she gets her first look. Sansa’s eyes land on a row of framed pictures hanging on the wall in the front hallway and she goes right towards them, her smile growing as she looks at them.

 

“You are _so_ adorable,” she beams, almost laughing.

 

“Gods,” he mutters under his breath and Sansa now does laugh as she goes back to looking at every single one of his school pictures – from kindergarten through his senior year of high school. He had told his mom that she didn’t _have_ to hang them all up in a row like this, like some sort of shrine to him, but Lyanna had just shrugged at that and continued hitting nails into the wall as Morgana held all of the frames at her side.

 

“You’re my pride and joy, Jon, and people show off their prides and joys,” Lyanna had explained to him.

 

Sansa giggles as she looks at his first grade picture complete with the ‘S’ Superman blue shirt and red cape.

 

“I could _not_ get him to wear anything else no matter what I tried,” Lyanna tells her. “He insisted and sometimes, parents just pick their battles.”

 

Sansa looks at him with such a bright smile, Jon can’t find it himself to be embarrassed. Besides, he was six. It’s not like he showed up to his first day of teaching, dressed like Superman.

 

“I wonder what our kids will insist on wearing for their picture days,” Jon muses and it takes him a second to realize that he’s said that out loud, only realizing it when he hears absolute silence. Turning his head, he sees both Sansa and his mom staring at him – his mom forming a growing smile and Sansa looking at him with so much love and softness, it makes his heart in his chest squeeze.

 

Suddenly, it’s so easy to imagine his and Sansa’s kids. Boys with black curly hair and girls with long red hair and all absolutely beautiful and brilliant. He wonders if Sansa is imaging them exactly the same way.

 

Before he can say anything else – though Jon supposes he’s already said enough – Grandpa Gareth and Grandma Morgana enter the hallway, sweeping Sansa into tight hugs, and Grandma Morgana telling Sansa all about the lemon cake she’s baked for dessert because Jon mentioned Sansa’s love for lemon cake.

 

As his grandparents usher Sansa into the living room, Lyanna and Jon remain in the hallway together.

 

His mom looks at him, still with a smile, and she reaches out to take his hand, giving it a squeeze. “I really, really like her,” she tells him quietly so it won’t be overheard.

 

“I’m glad,” Jon says and he is. He’s always been so close with his mom and he’ll be selfish and admit that it will make his life a hell of a lot easier if his mom and the girl he loves get along. “I’m going to ask her to move in with me,” he then tells her.

 

Lyanna keeps smiling. “I think you absolutely should.”

 

“You don’t think it’s too soon?”

 

“What does time even mean when you’ve found the one? You don’t want to let that one slip away.”

 

Jon looks into the living room where Sansa is sitting on the couch with his grandparents on either side of her. He notices a familiar album on the coffee table, Grandma Morgana already reaching for it and of course, it’s his baby album; as if Sansa hasn’t already seen enough embarrassing pictures of him in the span of three minutes.

 

He hasn’t allowed himself to think on it; not since he told Sansa everything he saw because he still has such a hard time accepting that he had seen anything at all, but his mom’s words make his mind wander before he can stop it again. He’ll never let Sansa slip away. Their story isn’t anywhere being done and even once it _is_ finished – dozens of years from now, it won’t end that way.

 

No one will ever be able to say that Sansa Stark (someday if Jon has anything to say about it) Snow just slipped away.

 

…

 

“Love,” Jon almost whines. “I’m really going to need you to put on _some_ kind of clothing.”

 

“Why?” Sansa asks, the picture of innocence; as if she’s not lying in their bed, completely naked and exposed for his eyes to roam over every single inch of her.

 

She smiles at him and he knows she’s having too much fun with him.

 

They’re tired. It’s not as if Sansa had a ton of things to move into the flat – just her clothes, books and her dresser – and even with the help of their friends and family, moving is always a strenuous activity. And of course, with Sansa being officially moved in and officially living with him, once everyone had left, Jon had taken her straight to _their_ bed to commemorate such an occasion.

 

But now, it’s just a little after six and the movie starts at seven and Jon is not going to be late; no matter what his girlfriend is doing to him.

 

He’s standing at the dresser, working through the knots that Sansa’s fingers had given his curls – not that he would ever complain about that – and through the mirror, Sansa is on the bed behind him, lying on top of the rumbled covers on her stomach, her legs kicked up behind her, her hands under her chin and her perfect ass on perfect display for him to ogle.

 

He bites back a groan. He wants to dive back between her legs. He wants to eat her out and feel her fingers tangling in his hair and he wants her to scream his name so god-damn loud.

 

But he won’t do that. Not yet. In a few more hours, but not right now. Right now, he has to go meet Ned and Robb at the theater so they can go see the resistance of the River Lords movie they’ve been talking about for months. Jon has already taken a shower and while Robb and Ned helped Sansa move in with Jon earlier this afternoon, Jon doesn’t think they would appreciate having it rubbed right in front of their faces if Jon shows up to meet them, smelling of sex and Sansa.

 

“Wait! I almost forgot!” Sansa pushes herself off the bed and hurries from the room, still completely naked.

 

This time, Jon does groan.

 

Giving his reflection one more look, he leaves the bedroom to follow after her. He finds her in the kitchen, looking through one of the brown paper shopping bags on the table. He stands in the doorway, watching her, Ghost and Lady standing at attention, watching her, thinking she’s going to be giving them treats.

 

The first few times she had been over and had spent the night, Jon had always told her to make herself at home and he knows that she never knew what that meant. It would always take her so long to completely relax. And now, she _lives_ here – with him – and she’s standing completely naked in _their_ kitchen.

 

“I love you,” Jon says because he has to at that moment.

 

Sansa lifts her head, giving him a smile. “I love you, too.” She pulls out a large plastic Ziploc bag. There are peanuts and raisins, but it mostly looks to be just different kinds of chocolate. “This is for Robb, but you make sure that I told him that he has to share with you.”

 

“Trail mix?”

 

“It’s the go-to movie theater snack for Starks.”

 

Jon smiles. “Thank you.” He takes the bag and leans in for a kiss. “What are you going to do while I’m gone?”

 

“Well, I’m going to start unpacking, I think.” Sansa goes to get two Milk-Bone biscuits for Ghost and Lady. “I might read. I don’t know. It’s summer vacation. I need to do something crazy.”

 

“Something crazy?” Jon sets the trail mix bag on the table and steps to her, wrapping his arms around her. It’s risky, he knows, but he just can’t help himself nor should he be expected to.

 

“Maybe I’ll call Gilly, Maddie and Val and we can have a Ouija board session.” And she’s smiling when she says it and he knows she’s just joking, but he still can’t stop his arms from squeezing around her.

 

“Please don’t do that,” he says quietly, absolutely serious.

 

Sansa’s own smile fades as she looks into his face and she lifts her arms to circle his neck. “I don’t think I’ll ever do one of those again… unless she wants me to and you’re with me.”

 

Jon doesn’t need her to clarify who _she_ is.

 

He leans in and presses his lips to hers. He keeps it to himself, but he doesn’t think Bethany Blackwood will be contacting Sansa anymore. Sansa gave Bethany an ending the young woman had deserved and now, she can, maybe, hopefully, rest in peace. Hopefully, Harry Rivers can, too.

 

“Or… maybe I’ll just go take a nap in our bed, naked, and wait for you to get home,” Sansa says, smiling again, laughing when she gets Jon to groan again.

 

…

 

The movie is over two hours long and after the first torturous hour, Jon knows that it’s already too long. He does have fun with Ned and Robb though, snickering as they make quiet and not-so-quiet comments in regards to the disastrous, horribly historically incorrect, movie.

 

And between Robb and Jon, they eat the entire bag of trail mix.

 

“Big moment for you, Jon,” Ned smiles as the three leave the theater, heading towards their cars.

 

Robb is grinning and Jon looks at Sansa’s dad, waiting, his stomach knotting though he has no idea what is about to said. He just knows that this is Sansa’s dad and a healthy level of constant nervousness is probably encouraged.

 

“Catelyn wants you and Sansa to come over for dinner on Tuesday and she wants _you_ to pick,” Ned says.

 

Jon stops walking and looks to the man. “Me?” He manages to croak out.

 

“Nothing with eggplant,” Robb jumps in. “I know Sansa loves it, but please. Nothing with eggplant. If you want to get on my good side, Winnie has been craving salty foods lately. Hint, hint.”

 

“Robb,” Ned pretends to frown at his son, but can’t quite manage it. He looks to Jon, his eyes twinkling in the way that the man’s so often do. “You pick whatever you want. Just let Catelyn know by Sunday so we can go shopping if we have to.”

 

Jon knows it probably wouldn’t sound like a big deal to others, but Jon knows. He _knows_. Catelyn loves to cook and except for rare occasions, Catelyn fixes home-cooked meals for her family every night. She has a chalkboard hanging in the kitchen of who’s night it is to pick. Everyone gets a pick. Robb and Winnie come over at least once a week for dinner and they get picks, too.

 

And now, it’s Jon’s turn. He gets a pick. He’s being welcomed into the Stark family. That goes unsaid though because it doesn’t _have_ to be said.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. Thank you,” Jon says emphatically.

 

Ned just smiles. “Jon, I think we can go back to you calling me Ned.”

 

…

 

Jon can’t wait to tell Sansa and for the whole drive home, he’s already thinking of what he can pick. This is a very big deal – his first dinner pick – and he wants to make sure it’s perfect.

 

When he unlocks the bottom door, he then takes the stairs up, two at a time. He wonders if Sansa is naked in their bed like she said she might be. He still intends to feast on her tonight. He can always think about dinner later. Sansa is a very good meal, if he does say so himself – though he obviously won’t tell her family that.

 

Unlocking the door, he’s about to call out her name, but he stops when he hears another voice. A familiar voice to him, but for a second, Jon has a hard time placing it because it’s a voice he doesn’t expect in their flat. Ghost and Lady hear him come in, closing the door behind him, and they trot from the kitchen to greet him.

 

“Hi, honey,” Sansa smiles at him as Jon comes into the kitchen. He smiles a bit at the nickname, but then he looks to Jeor Mormont, who is definitely sitting at their kitchen table. Thankfully, Sansa had gotten dressed again. Both have thick stacks of paper in front of them and matching red pens. “Guess who read it already?”

 

Jon smiles at the older man. “You flew through it.” He drops a kiss on Sansa’s head. 

 

“I had to get through all of the damn exams and get the grades inputted or else I would have started it sooner,” Jeor responds. “Right here, Sansa. This part,” he points to the third paragraph down on the paper in front of her before he makes a mark on his own paper.

 

Jon smiles to himself when he realizes that Jeor has made another copy of Sansa’s manuscript so they can both read and mark them at the same time.

 

“This is a bit repetitive. You already mentioned the smoked meats in the air. Bethany thinking it – without giving her a specific reason that adds to the story – isn’t needed,” he advises her.

 

“Right,” Sansa nods in agreement and scratches it out on her copy. “How was the movie?” She asks Jon.

 

“Awful,” he says with a smile and takes a can of ginger ale from the refrigerator. Sansa had brought a cookbook with her and Jon takes that now, sitting down with it in the other chair at the table, wanting to look through recipes for ideas and let them work without him interrupting.

 

“What about this part?” Sansa asks, now pointing at something on Jeor’s page. “I wasn’t sure if I should include that description of Harry’s… outline. It’s a little… risky.”

 

“Which is why I’ve told you. This is not young adult,” Jeor tells her firmly and it sounds like he’s already said that several times throughout this editing session.

 

Sansa laughs and looks to Jon. “I actually wrote a history book for adults apparently.”

 

Jon gives a grin. “Hell yeah, you did.” Sansa smiles and blushes and goes back to reading through the page before she and Jeor flip to the next one simultaneously. Jon turns his own page in the cookbook. “What do you think about chicken and dumplings?”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want this story to end and yet, I've been so excited for these last few chapters, I haven't been able to stop from just cranking them out. I know some have been asking about Arya and I did have a scene planned with her coming home from college, but it actually didn't fit well at all and I couldn't find a spot for it otherwise. THANK YOU, thank you, thank you. The last chapter will be an epilogue of sorts.


	35. Be Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to those who read this entire story. I loved writing every single word of it. My heart is already hurting from it being over, but it had to end eventually and the story I wanted to tell with this one has been told. I might have teared up a time or two while writing this last chapter - their epilogue. (PS - the quote at the end of this story is from Robert Montgomery, an 1800s English poet).

 

…

 

 **Thirty-Five.** Be Happy.

Sansa tries to not make it so obvious as she peeks in through the window in the door, looking into the classroom. There are at least thirty in there now. She turns away, taking another deep breath.

 

“Are you nervous, mommy?”

 

Sansa looks down to her daughter, almost five-year-old Bethany Snow, and she smiles. “Just a little,” she admits truthfully. “I don’t know if I’ll be a good teacher.”

 

“You will be!” Bethany exclaims with all of the confidence children have in their parents.

 

And Sansa smiles. Jon has told her that – over and over, of course – over the past few weeks as the first day has loomed closer and closer, but there’s just something different hearing it from her daughter.

 

She takes a final deep breath and she feels more relaxed than she has all morning.

 

“Let’s go sit on that bench and wait for your daddy and brother,” Sansa suggests and holds out her hand. Bethany smiles, nodding in agreement, and taking her hand, Bethany skips at her side as they go sit at the bench along the wall in the hallway. “And what about you? Are you nervous for next weekend?”

 

“Nope!” Bethany declares with a shake of her head and Sansa laughs, believing her. Her daughter rarely seems nervous or scared over anything. Never has Jon and Sansa have a screaming daughter run into their bedroom at night, terrified of a nightmare she’s had. “Aunt Maddie said I’m already the best flower girl ever!”

 

Sansa smiles, almost laughing. “You’re definitely that,” she agrees.

 

She thinks that even if Bethany dumps all of the flower petals at once while walking up the aisle – or forgets to drop any at all – it won’t ruin the wedding in any way, shape or form. This has been such a long time coming and as long as Maddie and Grenn say their vows and slip on their rings, the ceremony will be considered a success.

 

But, since they’ve been together for so long and Grenn asked Maddie to (finally) marry him after all of these years, Sansa hopes the wedding next weekend _will_ be perfect.

 

_“I just wanted to make sure my name was something that was good enough for her to want to have it,” Grenn had confessed to Jon and Sam while the men had been in the Snow kitchen, drinking beers, and Sansa had overheard from the other room._

“Daddy!” Bethany exclaims and Sansa turns to see her husband come down the hallway, their two-, almost three, year-old son, Harry, in his arms. Bethany slides down from the bench to meet Jon halfway.

 

“Well?” Sansa smiles as she stands up.

 

“Well?” Jon asks their son and Harry just giggles, smiling as if he’s very proud of himself. Jon looks back to Sansa. “He _almost_ made it.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“It means I had to call the janitor to help me clean up.”

 

“Oh, no,” Sansa can’t help, but laugh as she takes Harry into her own arms.

 

“Harry!” Bethany scolds her little brother with a fierce frown. “ _In_ the toilet, remember?”

 

Harry just giggles again and Sansa smiles, kissing him on his cheek.

 

“I remember someone missing the toilet quite a few times when she was getting potty-trained,” Jon muses.

 

“No, daddy,” Bethany frowns up at him because he must be wrong about that and Jon just gives her a grin, putting a hand on top of her head, before looking to Sansa.

 

“Are you ready?” Jon asks her.

 

Sansa swallows and looks back to the classroom door before back to her husband. “I’m terrified that I’m going to get up there and completely go blank as to what I’m going to talk about for the next hour.”

 

“I can’t ever imagine that happening,” Jon tells her honestly.

 

“Forty students, Jon,” she reminds him.

 

“Forty students who sprung at the opportunity to take a lecture from _you_ ,” he reminds her in turn. Sansa takes a deep breath and she bends down, setting Harry on his feet, and Jon steps in, sliding his hands onto her cheeks so her eyes look into his. “No one can teach this, but you,” he then says in a quieter voice. “And I’m taking the kids to my office and in hour, you’ll meet us there and I fully expect you to tell me I was right.”

 

That gets a smile out of her and Jon smiles, too, before kissing her.

 

This is the first year the course is being offered and Sansa doesn’t even know if it’s considered an actual course since she’s not actually a teacher. Jon calls it a special lecture series and she still can’t quite believe that so many had willingly signed up to listen to her talk for an hour, twice a week.

 

“Go on,” Jon then says. “Go knock their socks off.” He kisses her forehead and Sansa takes a deep breath.

 

Sansa smiles softly at him and she slips her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly, feeling his arms around her waist as he hugs her back, his face turned towards the crook of her neck.

 

“Harry, no!”

 

Both pull away and turn to look to see their young children, who have climbed up onto the bench on the opposite wall in the hallway and Harry is now pulling tabs down from a ‘Guitar Lessons Available’ flyer, laughing as he does and Bethany trying to stop him.

 

“Such a rookie mistake,” Jon grumbles and Sansa laughs as he hurries over to grab their son. He looks back to Sansa. “Alright. You’ve stalled long enough. Get in there,” he says, cocking his head towards the door.

 

Sansa takes a deep breath as she looks to the classroom door before back to her family.

 

“Good luck, mommy!” Bethany cheerfully exclaims.

 

“Luck!” Harry echoes.

 

Sansa goes and kisses her son and daughter and then gives Jon one more peck. And then, with one last deep breath, she looks down to make sure that she looks alright in her simple blue dress and grey cardigan before finally opening the door and stepping inside.

 

All chatter seems to stop as she makes her entrance and Sansa remembers to smile at everyone as she goes to the desk in the front of the room to set her bag down.

 

“Good morning,” she begins. “This is History of House Blackwood in the Third Century. I hope we’re all in the right place.” She makes sure to pause in case someone has made a mistake and has to leave, but no one moves. Sansa pushes through the butterflies and makes sure to keep smiling. “Great. I’m Mrs. Snow, your lecturer this semester. Welcome.”

 

…

 

Sansa, with the help of Jeor Mormont, edited the manuscript and she wrote a second draft, adding an epilogue that told the real story of Bethany Blackwood and Harry Rivers, before she, Jeor, and this time, Ned, sat down for a second editing session. The final copy of _The Daughter of Blackwood: a story of Bethany Blackwood by Sansa Stark_ came in at 415 pages.

 

Jeor knew people in the business of publishing history books and took it upon himself to get her work seen by them.

 

Sansa knows she owes everything to that man. Of course, when she tells him that, he frowns at her as if that’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard – and he’s been a teacher for nearly forty years, as he likes to remind her.

 

Sansa honestly hadn’t expected anything life changing. Her book was published and she would be happy if a handful of people – outside of her family and friends, who all bought their own copies – decided to read it and learn something new about two people that had become so important to her and who had been forgotten in history.

 

It was a surprise to no one except Sansa when the book became a hit, entering the Westeros Bestseller List, slowly working its way upward and staying put at #1 for three consecutive weeks. Reviews from historians helped boost it along further; almost all of the well-known historians in Westeros being men and they had absolutely no issue with spouting off how much they loved the book despite it being such a fictional romance.

 

Sansa had book signings and morning show appearances and she was always asked how she had been able to describe things so incredibly well; as if she had been really there. Sansa just smiled at those questions and with a shrug, replied that she had a very good imagination when it came to Bethany Blackwood and Harry Rivers.

 

Tourism to both Cairns and Stone Hedge went through the roof and the citizens of both presented keys of the village to Sansa, making her an honorary member of both House Blackwood and Bracken.

 

Jon earned his doctorate, writing his thesis on the First Men of the Night’s Watch, and just as he and Sansa were planning their wedding, Alliser Thorne, the Head of the college’s History Department, decided to move on from Winterfell Community College and Jon was approached to take over.

 

“What about Jeor? He’s been around much longer than me and he’d be better at it,” Jon had protested.

 

“Bah!” had been Jeor’s response when he heard that. “I’m finally retiring and getting the hell out of here. And even if I wasn’t, you think I would want it?”

 

Jon accepted it and liked to say he did so reluctantly, but Sansa knew how much it meant to him that the college had even _considered_ him.

 

One year after their wedding, their daughter was born and they named her Bethany without having much of a discussion about it at all.

 

Sansa was pregnant with their second child when she was approached about turning her book into a movie.

 

Despite the ridiculous amount of money the studio offered for the rights to her book, Sansa hesitated.

 

“I know I should jump at it,” Sansa said during her discussion about it with Jon. “It’s more money than we would know what to do with, but… I can’t just give away Bethany and Harry like that. I would have absolutely no say in how the studio interprets my book and makes their movie. They could be butchered and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

 

She was becoming so upset, not knowing what to do, she nearly began to cry, their son rolling around inside of her, able to feel his mother’s distress.

 

“Hey, hey,” Jon stepped to her and gently cupped her head between his hands. “Sansa, you don’t have to agree. Tell them you’re not interested. I wasn’t aware we’re hard up for money.”

 

“I know we’re not, but…” Sansa sniffled. “What kind of idiot turns down their book being turned into a movie?”

 

Jon kissed her softly. “An amazing woman who loves her story and doesn’t want to lose it as her own.”

 

Sansa turned down the offer and two months after that, Harry was born.

 

“You don’t mind?” Sansa asked as she sat up in the bed in the hospital room, full with blue balloons and bouquets of fresh flowers. Baby Snow was in her arms and Jon was next to her, his arm around her and his eyes on their son.

 

It seemed like he got his wish. Bethany had red hair just like her mother and it looked as if Harry would have the black curly hair of his father.

 

“Mind?” Jon looked at her, a little confused.

 

“About his name. We can name him something else. Maybe Gareth? Or we can just say we named him after Harry Rivers,” Sansa said. “I’m sure that’s what everyone will assume anyway.”

 

“But he’s named after Harry Hardyng and that’s perfect,” was Jon’s reply to that and Sansa looked at him, bursting into tears at the amazingness that was her husband.

 

She never forgot her promise to herself. She hadn’t let Harry fade and slip away and maybe – though he had never told her – Jon had made a similar promise to himself.

 

And then, before Harry’s first birthday, Sansa was approached again – this time by the Westeros Broadcasting Company – WBC – who were interested in making a miniseries from Sansa’s book. _This_ was the deal Sansa had been hoping for (still having her dad read through the contract just to be sure); the one which let her have complete creative control and work in direct contact with the program’s writer. Also, in four parts, they would be able to fit in nearly her entire book rather than trying to cram the whole story into one two-hour movie.

 

The Starks had a viewing party when it aired for all of the families and all of Jon and Sansa’s friends. Thankfully, the Stark family room was large enough to accommodate such a crowd and when the title card: _Based on the Novel by Sansa Stark_ appeared on the television screen, the cheers from everyone were deafening.

 

Sansa had laughed, feeling slightly embarrassed as her family and friends carried on, but she had tears in her eyes, too, and Jon threw an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side and cheering along with everyone else; possibly louder than everyone else.

 

…

 

They bought a home in Cairns and try to get to it at least twice a month; oftentimes, spending their whole summers in the village. It’s easy for Jon to do his own work from his laptop, anywhere, and Sansa is thinking of a new idea for her next book, already knowing that whatever the topic is, being in Cairns will help with her research.

 

They’ve decided to come for the weekend after the first week of school is complete. And with Grenn and Maddie’s wedding next weekend – though it’s not at all going to be an extravagant affair – it’s still going to be busy and Jon and Sansa wanted to come to Cairns for a couple of days to have a chance to quietly relax.

 

Jon pulls into the dirt drive next to the silent, dark house and quickly gets out to let Lady and Ghost out from the far back of the family SUV, the dogs instantly shaking themselves off and running to go relieve themselves, before he goes to collect a sleeping Bethany from her car-seat, Sansa getting Harry from his.

 

It’s a small cottage – Cairns isn’t exactly teeming with available real estate – and the children share a room. Jon and Sansa carry them there now and moving with the moves of practiced parents who have done this a time or two already, they get each changed into their pajamas and tucked into their bed and crib without stirring Bethany or Harry from their slumber.

 

Only once the dogs are inside again and the bags are brought in from the car do Jon and Sansa allow themselves to collapse onto the sofa in the living room. Sansa sits sideways, her legs draped over Jon’s lap, and she smiles as he unlaces her shoes, taking them off and then peeling off her socks as well. She moans as he begins rubbing her feet.

 

“So?” Jon asks, turning his head on the back cushion to look at her.

 

“So?” She echoes with a smile. Jon squeezes her foot and she laughs. “I think I’ve decided. Want to hear?”

 

Jon just gives her a look for even asking that and she laughs again, quieting again after a moment.

 

“After Bethany died and her father ordered her buried with the blank gravestone, the fourth son, Edmund-”

 

“Who everyone called Ben,” Jon recalls.

 

“-he just disappeared. Vanished into thin air. There is _nothing_ found about him ever again. I think that’s what I want to write about next.”

 

“House Blackwood and their mysteries,” Jon muses to himself and she smiles again. “Sounds good,” he then says. “Where are we going to start?”

 

Sansa smiles at his use of “we” and it’s the truth, isn’t it? With all of the research he helped her with last time, Sansa knows there wouldn’t have been much a book if she hadn’t had him at her side throughout it all.

 

“The cemetery and then Benjicot’s for coffee, of course,” she replies and Jon breaks into a smile as well.

 

And the next morning, that’s just what they do.

 

As always, in the early fall, the Riverlands is wet and overcast. Jon fixes them all plates of scrambled eggs and sausages for breakfast in their cottage's little kitchen and Sansa makes sure that everyone is dressed warmly and in enough dry layers. And then, once teeth are brushed and hair is brushed, the Snow family heads out, Lady and Ghost leading the way, the dogs already seeming to know exactly where they are going.

 

Bethany races ahead as well, waving at the familiar people in the shops and houses they pass on the main lane, everyone waving in return, and she heads right to the cemetery. There is no searching; they know exactly which row of gravestones they need – even the children know by this point. Jon is carrying Harry and he sets him down so the boy can go hurrying off after his sister and their dogs as Jon and Sansa slowly move along the familiar row of gravestones.

 

They come upon Edmund’s, but they don’t stop there yet. Instead, they move past his and then Alyn’s gravestones before coming upon Bethany’s. With some of the money she received for her work on the miniseries, Sansa paid for Bethany to finally receive a good and proper gravestone with her name and dates of her birth and death.

 

Bethany and Harry have already stopped in front of it and Sansa smiles as her Bethany brushes away some blades of freshly cut grass that has been matted to the stone from the rain and she tells Harry that they have to keep Aunt Bethany’s stone looking pretty. Harry begins to help his sister by rubbing his hands on the stone and not doing much cleaning at all.

 

Jon and Sansa don’t correct Bethany whenever she refers to the woman as her Aunt. They both suppose, in a way, that’s very much what Bethany Blackwood is.

 

Sansa leans into Jon and he puts an arm around her shoulders, holding her close and kissing her head, his lips right over her scar beneath her hair. After all of this time, whenever he makes contact with it, it still makes her shiver – but only the best kind of shivers.

 

She also had gotten a quote engraved into the stone. It’s not the most famous quote in the world. It’s just a quote in some book of poems she came across one day and it stuck with her.

 

_“The people you love become ghosts inside of you, and like this, you keep them alive.”_

…

 

The End.


End file.
